I Will Die For You
by Mononoke-hime x sukai kurora
Summary: "A hound will die for you, but never lie to you." The Hound died and was born anew and leaves the Quiet Isle. Sandor Clegane mangaes to resuce Sansa Stark and a weak Robert Arryn who are fleeing from the Vale. The love between Sandor and Sansa grows as Robert learns swordmanship. Will either of the three companions survive? Caution is advised for major character deaths.
1. Sandor I

_Sandor I_

Sandor Clegane continued digging the grave. Mud and dirt coated his habit as sweat poured down his obscured face. His entire body was on fire, but not from the exertion that he was required to do multiple times a day. It occurred from a conversation that still echoed in his ears. There were two knights talking about the Hound, _him_. Sandor wondered how the knights would have reacted if they realized that the outlaw they were searching for was right in front of them. He knew they were searching for a scarred warrior possessed by rage and hate, not a simple novice with a limp, who dug graves. Sandor had heard the rumors. Of the Saltpans. The Brave Companions had invaded the city of Saltpans, looting, raping, and murdering the citizens. It reminded Sandor the sack of King's Landing during Robert's Rebellions, when he was only a boy of twelve. Most of the atrocities were blamed on the Hound. Sandor had heard with his very own ears that the Hound had raped a girl of twelve before gouging her breasts. Now the outlaw was being hunted from King's Landing to the riverlands. It seemed that everyone wanted his head. The two knights who had talked about the sack of Saltpans were right behind him when one knight opening wondered if the Hound was responsible for the wounds of a now-dead man who Sandor was now burying. _"He cut poor Clement's tongue out when he would not speak. Since he had taken a vow of silence, the raider said that he had no need of it."_

Those words still haunted him even though they had been uttered a fortnight ago. After he had heard the news from the Elder Brother that one of the knights was Lady Brienne of Tarth searching for the whereabouts of Sansa Stark, who had disappeared during the night of King Joffrey's murder, Sandor's mouth had twitched and had remained morosely silent during the modest dinner at the Quiet Isle. The Elder Brother had misread the origin of his distress and had told him, "Lady Brienne was searching for the Hound as well, but I told her that the Hound was dead. You are safe." That night Sandor had remained sleepless, memories resurfacing from his former life. _"Sing, little bird. Sing for your little life." _She had sung him a song, a long forgotten song that his own sister had sung to him whenever he was hurt or afraid. Some nights the half-forgotten song enabled him to sleep. Guiltily, the calm and sweet voice of his sister was not the one who sang. It was the voice of a terrified girl who had a knife to her throat.

Winter was now at hand. The Quiet Isle was not spared from the cold ferociousness of the short winter days and nights. Bodies slowly stopped flowing from the Trident. The war was finished, the Elder Brother had told him and the other refugees on the island. Sandor didn't believe it, although he didn't share his opinion. The ground was now hard as iron, and even someone as strong as him couldn't continue to dig graves. Sandor now had different tasks. However, the former sworn sword missed the toil of digging. It cleared his mind; it cleared all memories from his head; especially of _her_. Sansa Stark reminded him of what he had lost, who he had lost, and she had a strange effect on him. She was almost like wine to him, although wine had never tasted so good. Sandor was certain she hadn't murdered the king. He had wanted to spit when he had heard _that._ He knew that the people were quick to blame her because her father had been a traitor. He still remembered of how she had screamed when Eddard Stark had been beheaded. It reminded of…no, he couldn't remember. Her scream echoed in his ears, even though it had been two years since her father's death. Sandor was certain no one knew who he was; he kept his face obscured by the cowl attached to the habit he wore. No one saw his face, and even if they saw his eyes, they would only see a broken man. They would see a man who was empty. The only one who knew who Sandor truly was the Elder Brother. The former knight had healed his wounds the best he could, and had accepted him as a novice in the Quiet Isle. _"Eventually,"_ the Elder Brother said many times as Sandor lied bedridden, _the Hound will be gone. He will cease to exist."_

Sandor had refused to believe that the Hound would be gone. It would always be a part of him. The monster inside of him would be sleeping until it had awoken. Sandor didn't know what would happen when it did. There was a part of him that would always be related to the Hound, and that was Sansa Stark. The Hound had referred to her as little bird, and had tried to protect her from those soiled knights who had beaten her bloody. The Hound had stopped the mob from raping her, and had offered to escape with him. He remembered those beautiful blue eyes that had been sharp with fear as she gazed at him. Sansa Stark only knew to fear him. She only knew the cruel and broken man he had been, and Sandor wondered if she would recognize the man he had attempted to become.

The Elder Brother stood in front of him. Although Sandor towered over him, he still felt like a child before him. The former knight had calmed his demons from his past, something Sandor knew he could never do. Last time when he had confessed his sins, Sandor had replied that he thought about killing the culprit who had chosen to use his helm when he had invaded Saltpans. The Elder Brother had remained silent, although Sandor saw a flicker of sadness in his eyes. He wondered now what the Elder Brother would react when he would tell his latest thought.

"I had a thought of leaving the Quiet Isle, Elder Brother," Sandor made certain to choose his words carefully. The Elder Brother remained expressionless. "Ever since those knights came here a fortnight ago, I have had sleepless nights, and my only thoughts are on _her_." This time Sandor saw the Elder Brother nod. _"Many times you shouted out for someone while abed. I don't know who, but you called her little bird." _Sandor had tried not to think of Sansa Stark, but it was as hard as drinking wine again after all these months without it. "I keep thinking that she needs me. I know that the female knight will fail. I know that I have no sword or amour, only myself, but…"

"You need her as much as she needs you," the Elder Brother calmly stated for him. Sandor nodded. He had come to realize that Sansa Stark was the only fire he wasn't afraid of. He had heard in his youth the wildlings in the North had a special saying for those with auburn or red hair. _Kissed by fire,_ they said. She was the only fire that Sandor had grown to not fear.

"I need to protect her as I did in the past," Sandor said. His voice had become raspy again. It had been such a long time since he had spoken last. More than a couple of minutes had passed. Instead of staying still, the Elder Brother stood. He continued to walk and uncomprehending, Sandor followed him. He didn't notice that his limp was finally gone, and that something had woken within him. The Elder Brother stopped in front of a stall. Sandor stood beside him, lost for words. "My horse…Stranger…" he watched as Stranger stood calmly before him. "I didn't know you still kept him."

"I thought you wouldn't stay with us for long, Sandor." Sandor started, surprised that the Elder Brother had called him by his name. He was only known as novice to him before. "Your place isn't here." He gestured to Stranger. "It appears that the horse had calmed with the master. Your time is done, Sandor. I know you mean to rescue Sansa Stark." Wordlessly, Sandor grasped Stranger's reins and climbed onto him. His movements were smooth as water again. He glanced again at the Elder Brother as Stranger started to stamp. He eased his hand down onto the horse's nostril and stroked until the horse calmed. The Elder Brother stared back at him, and Sandor was surprised when he saw the empathy in his eyes. "A long time ago, I loved a girl who I promised my hand. After the battle that cost my honor and when I continued to stay at the Quiet Isle as decades went passed, I told myself that I would be satisfied with us meeting in the afterlife. The promise still lingers in my heart, Sandor. I know that you will fulfill your promise to her no matter what you promised her." Now he opened the stall door and stood still as Sandor Clegane flew past him.

Sandor didn't look back. He only looked forward, and urged Stranger to run faster. _I'm coming, little bird, I'm coming._


	2. Sansa I

_Sansa I_

She remembered what Littlefinger had told her._ "So here are your gifts from me, my sweet Sansa…Harry, the Eyrie, and Winterfell. That's worth another kiss, don't you think?"_ Despite herself, she shuddered as she remembered the growing smile on his face. She knew that even though Littlefinger had proclaimed that she was his natural born daughter, Alyane Stone, she could feel the way he looked at her. Littlefinger sometimes stroked her in places she hadn't been stroked before when he talked to her for an extended period of time; her neck, her thighs, her breasts. _He thinks of me as my mother. _Sansa had been horrified when she realized Petyr Baelish thought of her as Catelyn Tully. She did look more like her deceased mother every passing day, even as the brown dye was constantly put in her hair. She heard Littlefinger's voice again as he pushed his wife, Lysa Arryn, from the Moon Gate, where she fell to her death. _"I've loved only one woman, I promise you. Only Cat." _Sansa's mother had died in the Red Wedding with her older brother, the King of the North. They were murdered by the Freys. Since their deaths, she had become a shell to her former self, even more morose and meek then in imprisonment in King's Landing. Sansa thought that the proud eldest daughter of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell had died until Littlefinger told her about her upending marriage to Harry the Heir.

Sansa thought that she would remain Alyane Stone forever, but it appeared that Littlefinger had other plans. Somehow Winterfell seemed a world away. Her younger brothers had died there, and was burnt to the ground – not by Theon Greyjoy, but Ramsy Bolton, Littlefinger said – until rubble and ashes remained. Sansa remembered creating her home out of snow, vaguely recalling the numerous hallways and chambers. As a child, Sansa had been content to stay in her room, daydreaming of knights, maidens, and roses. It was Arya who had explored every inch of the gigantic castle. Bran had also inherited her curiosity and desire for adventure before he had fallen and became a cripple. Sansa still remembered that sad day. It had been Jon Snow who had found him and had rushed to find Maester Luwin. Together they lifted Bran's limp form to his chambers, and her father and mother had been notified at once. She still remembered how her mother never left Bran's side, wan and exhausted beside him. Her father had been silent, his grey eyes tired and his face etched with grief. Sansa didn't remember how she had reacted to Bran's fall. She only remembered how she had been grateful to escape her barren and cold childhood home, thinking that she wouldn't come back.

In a sense, Sansa had been right. Winterfell was dead and broken. Bran had survived his fall only to be murdered by Theon Greyjoy, the father's ward. Rickon, the youngest, had died as well. Arya was missing since their father's execution, most likely dead. Early this morning Littlefinger brought it to her gently that her bastard brother Jon Snow, the Commander of the Night's Watch, had an assassination attempt and was grievously wounded. There was no telling if he would live or not. Now Sansa was alone. She was the only trueborn Stark alive, and yet she was hesitant to claim Winterfell – it had too many painful ends and too many ghosts that haunted the walls. She suspected that Littlefinger wanted Winterfell for himself. By marriage, he was her aunt's husband, and if she died, Littlefinger would control the North. _That's what he wants, _she realized suddenly. Sansa suddenly felt insignificant and small. _He's a very good liar…better than me. _Perhaps another part of Sansa lived on, because late at night with Robert Arryn snuggled against her breasts, his voice resurfaced in her mind. The Hound's voice was raspier than she remembered, and somehow his face entered her mind. Grey eyes smoldering in rage and the scar remained fresh in her mind. It had been two years she saw him flee King's Landing. He had left behind a bloodied cloak…and a kiss that sometimes tingled Sansa's lips.

"_A dog can smell a lie, you know. Look around you, and take a good whiff. They're all liars here… and every one better than you."_

"Alyane?" Sansa looked up to see the tiny face of the frail and sickly Robert Arryn staring at her with big brown eyes. For once he was eating the porridge that she had made him. A couple drops of it coated on his mouth and cloak. Since arriving in Gates of the Moon, the heir to the Vale's health had improved. The shaking spells occurred infrequently now, and his emotional unstable state had been reduced to crying in his sleep. Sansa thought it had something to with her being his constant companion. She still remembered when he had been having shaking spells more than once a day, weak and trembling, and not wanting to see anyone. _"Alyane, does that mean you're my new mother now?" _His voice still shook at times, but Sansa believed that Robert's voice had become stronger.

"Yes?" She forced herself out of her thoughts and smiled at him.

"Can you tell me a story?" Seeing her neutral expression, Robert hastily added, "I'll eat my porridge, Alyane!" He picked up his spoon and messily shoved his meal in his mouth.

_What should I tell him? I can't tell him stories about knights and maidens…he doesn't like those and I don't want him to believe in them. _

"There was a hero who appeared to me in the dark of night," she began. Robert was instantly aroused. He leaned forward to hear Sansa better before she spoke in a whisper. "This hero wasn't a knight, sweetrobin. He was a warrior and he protected me."

"Who was he?" Robert excitedly exclaimed. He had already forgotten about his porridge. "Was he knight?"

"No, he wasn't a knight." Sansa repeated patiently. "He was…honest with me when the others lied to me and he protected me and comforted me the best he could. I remember when he came for me. Fire was on the water, smorldering everything in its path. I was in my room, afraid, when he grabbed my wrist. He said that he knew I would come." Sansa's heart still beat furiously whenever she thought of that night. She remembered of how he had smelled of sweat, wine, and blood. She remembered of how he had put a knife to her throat and demanded a song. He had _cried_ and she had touched his face. The kiss… "He wanted me to sing to him, and I did. He wanted me to run away with him, away from the war, but I refused, even though I knew he wouldn't hurt me. He…kissed me, and then he was gone."

"Who was he?" Robert repeated. Her memories had engulfed her, so she hardly heard him. Sansa's mind was far away, back to the Battle of Blackwater, where she had said her final goodbye to the Hound. _I should have gone with him. Even though I could have died, I wouldn't have to be married to Tyrion Lannister with a price on my head. I wouldn't have hide, and be Alyane Stone._

"My bastard daughter is referring to the Hound, my lord Robert." Sansa's head immediately perked up. Littlefinger was standing in the doorway of the dining room, where Robert was grasping his spoon. Sansa nervously eyed her "father." He wore sleek silk robes of dark blue and gold. _Arryn colors, _Sansa thought dully. Her mind was on what he was going to say.

"The Hound had invaded the Saltpans with the Bloody Mummers. He raped a girl of twelve before gouging her breasts." Littlefinger entwined his fingers into his small goatee. "He is now a wanted man; even Queen Cersei wants his head." He stroked Sansa's pale cheek against his hand. Sansa shuddered at the sudden anger in his eyes. "Now how does Alyane Stone, the bastard daughter of Petyr Baelish, know of the Hound, one of the most feared fighter in Westeros?"

"He…" Sansa whispered. Her hands started to tremble and she licked her lips. "He wouldn't do those things. The Hound may be blunt and cruel, but he would never…" Tears welled in her eyes. "He would never_ rape_ anyone. He stopped the mob from raping me in King's Landing when he could have easily let me _die_. S-sandor would never do anything like that." That was the first time Sansa had said the Hound's actual name. It felt foreign on her tongue, and she continued to stare at Littlefinger's dangerously calm expression.

Even Robert noticed the tense atmosphere. He started to tremble and whimpered as Littlefinger's hands touched Sansa's throat. They were cold, Sansa noticed, as cold as his eyes were now. "Alyane Stone should not know these things, should she? She has never been to King's Landing."

"I'm not Alyane Stone." Sansa had no idea where her courage came from. "My name is Sansa Stark, the heir to Winterfell."

Suddenly, Littlefinger raised his hand and struck her across the face. Her head collided with the stone floor when the chair fell to the ground. Her vision blurred as pain seared through her skull. She saw Robert hiding underneath the table, shivering as he stared at her with scared eyes. Sansa tried to smile at him but the smile wouldn't come. She felt herself being lifted to her feet and was held up by Littlefinger. He dragged her across the floor and forced her to turn her head toward the window in front of him.

"I should have you beaten for your insolence." Sansa could feel his stinky breath in her ear. "But my lady mother said to me growing up that a lord should not hit his lady wife."

"_He wants to hear you recite all your pretty little words the way the septa taught you. He wants you to love him . . . and fear him." _

Sansa remembered how Joffrey had tormented her relentlessly during her time in King's Landing. His white cloaks had beaten her, and had not cared if she lived or died. Joffrey had felt the same way. She was only a thing to him. He wanted her to fear him, and she did, just as she feared Littlefinger at this very moment. Sansa was only a stepping stone to getting Winterfell. _He means to kill me and Robert after this is done, _she thought with horror.

Littlefinger grabbed her hand in his and whispered, "Kiss me and, you will be forgiven."

"_Save yourself some pain, girl, and give him what he wants." _

"No!" Sansa screamed. She untangled herself from his embrace and pushed him through the window. Glass shattered as Littlefinger's skinny body broke the glass, scattering it at Sansa's feet. He fell through, falling, and then Sansa heard a sickening crack as his body made contact with the ground. Hesitating slightly, she peered down below and gasped. Littlefinger's body was twisted. His arms and legs were bent in awkward angles, and blood seeped from his formerly elegant robe. His blank eyes stared back at her. Sansa shakily backed away.

"Alyane?" Robert's thin voice startled her. She looked as he stood up, escaping from his refuge. She didn't register that he had called her by her alias. "What happened to Littlefinger?"

"Littlefinger is dead," Sansa answered, surprisingly bitter. "And now I'm free. _We're _free."


	3. Sansa II

_Sansa II_

Sansa crouched down toward Robert. He was still trembling. She took him into his arms and soothed him by singing him a song. The same song, she noticed, that had soothed the Hound. But instead of soothing the frail and weak eight year old, the boy began to cry. Bewildered, Sansa held him until his crying subsided into sniffling.

"Sweetrobin," Sansa gently wiped Robert's tears away. "Why do you weep?"

"That was the same song Mother sang to me when I was little," Robert confessed. Snot dribbled down his nose, and tears continued to travel down his cheeks.

"Your mother sang _The Mother's Mercy_?"Sansa asked. Robert nodded. Unbidden, she gently wiped his eyes, which had already swollen red. "No more crying, Robert," she said, using his name, hoping that he would be brave. "We're safe now." Sansa broke the fierce hold the boy had on her, and stood. "We must go away from the Vale."

"Where do we go?" Robert's voice was a hushed whisper and squeaked.

Sansa didn't know. Littlefinger had smuggled her into the Vale, and two years before her father had lead them to King's Landing. All her life someone had made decisions for her, and had leaded her. In a sense, the Hound had fulfilled the hole that had been left vacant after her father's death. He had offered to protect her and leave behind the torturous imprisonment she had known._"I could keep you safe. They're all afraid of me. No one would hurt you again, or I'd kill them." _In the end she had defied him, and that had left her with an estranged Lannister husband, a price on her head, and far away from home. _If _she had said yes to him, would Winterfell still be standing? Would her family be alive? She didn't know, and now she never would. That time had passed, she realized. Her childhood and daydreams. That is what the Hound was trying to tell her all along. Littlefinger had tried to tell her this as well, but by then it had been too late. _"Life is not a song, sweetling."_

"Alyane?" Robert whispered uncertainly. He clutched her dress like a very small child would. As gently as she could, Sansa pried his small fingers away. With a surprise, she saw that his fingers were long, pale, and smooth like hers. _We're both summer children._

"My name is no longer Alyane, Robert," the child was looking at her with a strange intensity. This was no longer the whiny and frightened child that Sansa had first met. He was something more now. "You will call me by my true name Sansa from this day forth. Do you understand?" Robert nodded.

* * *

Sansa packed whatever food she could find in her woolen knapsack. Dried cheese, salted meat, apples, and watered wine were put in. She slung the knapsack over her shoulder and looked at Robert Arryn. Sansa had been able to two grey find fur-lined coats that fit him and herself. She pulled the cowl over her head, and did the same with Robert. The risk was too great for either of them to leave their faces in the open, even with Robert's poor eyesight. The boy almost looked comical in his coat. At first he had complained that he couldn't see, but at Sansa's encouragement he was able to see what was in front of him. Sansa ran her fingers through her hair from habit. Although her hair had not become its original auburn color, she knew that with Littlefinger dead her hair would become the color of flames from the lack of the brown dye he had acquired. If people saw her face even now, her head would be on a spike in King's Landing and Robert would become another piece in the game of thrones. She had been a piece as well until she had pushed Littlefinger out of the window. She still remembered how broken and blood his body had been. Inwardly, Sansa shuddered and forced herself to be brave for Robert.

"Come, Robert." Sansa held out her hand. The soft hand of the child before her clasped her own, and before she could stop herself, Sansa looked back. In a way the Eryie and the Vale had been a haven for her. Those impregnable stones walls had protected her from the war that had been present in King's Landing. Now she was going to have to leave and face danger again. The Stark words that her father had said so many times resurfaced in her mind and she had a sudden urge to say them. "Winter is coming," she whispered. Sansa wondered Robert would ever see his childhood home again. Would he reclaim his birthright years after the war?

"Will…I come back, Sansa?" Robert's voice filled in the quietness of the castle.

"I don't know," Sansa answered honestly.

It had taken them a day's journey of walking to the High Road. By that time, Robert was exhausted and Sansa was excreting sweat despite the cold air. Despite wanting to sleep on the hard cold floor with Robert's warm body against her, Sansa knew they must move quickly. Taking a deep breath, she had carried Robert's body above the snow drifts. He was lighter than air, but Sansa struggled as the snow continued to reach new heights. By nightfall, the worst had passed. Both of them were stumbling now, and Sansa had allowed them to rest beside tree that guarded blocked the wind and snow. The ground around it was surprisingly barren. Robert was too exhausted to reply. Sansa had to force him to eat a bit of cold cheese and meat before Robert instantly snuggled against a tree and fell into an exhausted sleep. Sansa followed soon moments later.

Sansa woke to find the sun in her eyes. She shielded her eyes, and saw that noon had risen already. She stood, stretching her sore muscles and woke Robert. Despite his feeble protests, they continued to walk the High Road until dawn. It occurred during that time that Sansa recalled her father telling Bran years ago that the High Road of the Vale was a perilous path with lethal animal and vicious hill tribes that haunted the road. During his youth, he had said, not even his childhood friend Robert Baratheon had not dared venturing in the dark woods and fought against the infamous tribes. Bran had been exhilarated by the tale, she remembered. Now Sansa was walking unarmed with a sickly boy. Robert's lips were already turning blue and his hands were as cold as ice. _I must be brave for him, _Sansa thought. At that moment there was a movement behind her. Sansa sensed nothing behind her and kept walking, although more quickly now. There was a loud crash and she heard the heavy footsteps and heavy breathing. _The Hound? _Not daring to breathe she quickly looked behind her to find a large hairy man carrying a battle axe in each of his hands. A scream bubbled in her throat, but he had put one of the axes to her throat before she could take a breath. Robert was held down against her as the hill tribe man held his hand over his small body. Sansa could feel a liquid traveling down her legs and knew that Robert had wet himself. She dared herself to look at her captor. He was tall, though not as tall as the Hound. An unruly beard etched his face, and angry pale brown eyes stared back into her frightened ones. He tightened his grip on her and Robert. The knapsack of food was beginning to crush against her back.

_What was I thinking? _Sansa suddenly thought. _The Hound would move silently as he took me, and would try to calm me against his fierce grip. He wouldn't try to hurt me._ She could feel Robert sob against her, and she wanted to cry as well from her foolishness.

The hill tribe man paid no attention. "How dare you insult Shagga son of Dolf!" He roared. His nostrils flared. "My mountain." He fingered his disgusting nails through Robert's silky long brown hair. "My goat." Robert shuddered under his touch.

"No!" Sansa suddenly knew what he meant to do. Tears welled in her eyes. "Please," she pleaded. "Spare him, Shagga son of Dolf. He's only a boy."

Shagga growled. He continued to finger his fingers through Robert's hair. "Shagga son of Dolf will chop off the child's manhood and feed it to the goats." He continued to stroke Robert's hair. "Then he'll have the cunt." He leered at Sansa.

"Before you harm either, you will face me." Shagga sharply turned to the voice who had dared to challenge him. The challenger was taller than Shagga, but long-limbed and heavily muscled. The voice was muffled from a cowl that hid his face, and a large hand carried a large sword compared to Shagga's two battle axes. His movements toward Shagga were silent and swift, and he spoke again. "You'll have to chop off my manhood first before you fucking kill them, whoreson." His voice was hollow and raspy, as if he hadn't used it in quite a while. Sansa recognized it. Her heart leaped, and although the cowl obscured his face, she could see the flaming anger in his grey eyes. "_I _will fucking rape you and kill you before you touch her." The sword gleamed in the glowing dawn.

"Who challenges of Shagga son of Dolf?" Subsequently, the hill tribe man released Sansa and Robert. Urging Robert on, Sansa managed to distance themselves from the two fighters. She saw their rescuer remove his cowl, and it took all she had to not scream his name.

"I am Sandor son of Conan." Grey eyes dark with rage eyed the tribe hill man. A mass of scars twisted across the left side of his face, and his long dark hair was pulled to the left side where hair no longer grew. The burnt side of his slightly face twitched. The Hound raised his sword.


	4. Sandor II

_Sandor II_

Sandor Clegane stood with a sword in his hand. It had been months since he had last held a weapon and years since he had felt the adrenaline coursing through his veins. It felt good. Sandor glanced back at the little bird and her companion. Her auburn hair had become a dark mousy brown, and she was taller than he had last seen her, almost two years ago. He had left her with her song revolving in his ears that night during the Battle of Blackwater. Apparently her companion was a boy, despite his long hair that came to his weak shoulders. The little bird had called him Robert as they had run a distance away from the two fighters. He could feel the boy's brown eyes staring at him, unblinking, and could feel the little bird's gaze on him as well. Sandor shifted his eyes to his opponent. Two battle axes were in each of his hands, and an untangled beard hid most of his face. He was tall, but not as tall as Sandor. The former sworn shield could see that the hill tribe man was hungry for battle, angry and impatient. He suddenly remembered the rumor about the Imp who had brought a group of vicious barbarian mercenaries to fight in the war. _He must have been one of them, _Sandor thought. His mouth twitched at the thought of the sly dwarf who had caused him to flee the Battle of Blackwater in the first place. Sandor remembered how he had cursed him that dreadful night. Sansa had told him she thought him dead. _"Dead? No. Bugger that. I don't want him dead. I want him burned. If the gods are good, they'll burn him, but I won't be here to see. I'm going."_ Now the Imp was a hunted and wanted man, more than Sandor himself. They said that he was seen it the Free Cities and was now a mercenary. One refugee openly wondered if he would still be raised to lordship with the Imp's mercenary head. _Bugger that, _Sandor thought. _Beheading is an easy death. I want him burned._

Although bodies had come more infrequently now, there was still debris and abandonment washing upon the shores. He had found his sword that way, sharp and light, compared to the heavyweight swords he was used to with a scabbard. Sandor had kept it close to his side. He had heard the whispers about the Imp along the river flowing across the Quiet Isle. Fishermen and refugees fleeing from the South and the North had gathered along the shoreline. They hadn't noticed a tall stranger with a cowl over his head riding by. He had heard their whispers about how the queen had been arrested for some fraud or another. Sandor been about to cross the High Road when he heard a hushed whisper that the Protector of the Vale was dead. The fishermen and the Northernmen had cheered while Sandor leaned in to listen as his heart was in his mouth. The female knight had said that Sansa Stark could have been hiding in the Vale, where her aunt was. Littlefinger had recently taken the Vale as his own, much to her disgust. She had dismissed the reasoning that the sole heir to Winterfell would be captive under that sly bastard. Sandor had a different opinion. It was well known that Littlefinger had loved Sansa's mother, Catelyn Stark. _She would trust him for the love they shared for that woman. She is still a foolish little bird. A summer child. _He continued to listen to find that the current heir to the Valehad vanished, along with Littlefinger's bastard daughter. "I hear she got Tully blue eyes," sighed one of them, "and is pretty as a maid." _Fuck that, Littlefinger's bastard daughter, _Sandor thought as Stranger as he crossed the High Road. He had left Stranger behind a couple of miles farther and tied his reins to a tree when he had heard the screams. The little bird's screams echoed in his ears every waking minute since he first heard her scream as her father had been beheaded before her eyes. It seemed as if Sansa was calling for him, and had drawn his sword as he ran. Sandor had arrived just as the hill tribe man had one of his battle axes on her throat. He had seen the recognition in her eyes, and she seemed almost _happy _to see him, just like that time when the mob had torn her away from him.

Now he was protecting her again. Shagga son of Dolf stood in front of him, baring his teeth. They were crooked. Sandor made his face expressionless. The hill tribe man hefted his battle axes above him and charged. Sandor was able to dodge the furious attack with ease. He took a step back and avoided another swing from the massive weapon, causing the hill tribe man to roar with rage. "Shagga son of Dolf will feed of your manhood before feeding to the goats!" Sandor clenched his sword in his hand, testing his strength. The sword was light, but would he be able to kill his enemy? Sandor could see that Shagga wanted to kill him before making him a eunuch. The said tribe man roared and threw his massive battle axe at Sandor's head. He heard the little bird scream, and narrowly avoided the battle axe by crouching down to his feet. A sharp _thunk _embedded in the tree behind him as the axe made contact. At the corner at Sandor's eyes he saw Shagga running towards him at full speed. Sandor quickly managed to stand and parried the battle axe with his sword. Although Sandor was known for his fierceness in battle, it was uncommonly known that he was light on his feet and quick. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he and Shagga continued to parry their weapons. Blood ran to his head, and Sansa Stark and her child companion disappeared. There was only the fight.

Shagga and Sandor were evenly matched. A thin sheen of sweat coated their foreheads, and Shagga was breathing hard. Somehow Sandor felt the little bird's eyes on him. He supposed she had never seen such a fierce one-on-one fight like this before. He remembered when he saw her at the melee, her hair auburn like the sun. She had a red rose in her hand, and was beaming at Loras Tyrell. Why had he saved the haughty boy? Sandor didn't know. It was more like an instinct. He remembered a long time ago when his sister had saved him from his brother during the rare times they had practiced together. Gregor was about to beat him into a blood pulp, but then his sister had stepped in, even though she was smaller than her younger brother. He had been eleven years old at that time. Perhaps Sandor had stepped in for similar reasons. His brother had become more feared and terrifying as years went by, and Sandor knew he would kill the boy with a simple chop to his neck. Or maybe, Sandor thought as he sidestepped another blow by his opponent, he wanted to appear human to the girl who reminded him so much of his own lost sister. Ever since she had seen him, she had remained terrified of him, more terrified of him than anyone…because of his face. _"Do I really frighten you so much, girl?" _Sandor remembered now of how she had stood with the crowd, this time beaming at _him_. That was the only good moment in that fucking melee.

"Shagga son of Dolf will chop of your manhood and feed it to the goats before he rips your fucking head off!"

_Seven fucking hells… _"You're annoying," Sandor rasped. With a swift motion as fast as the speed of light, his sword connected with Shagga's thick neck, and summoning all the strength he had in his right arm, Sandor severed his head of his shoulders. Blood showered his face and habit as the decapitated head flew into the hair. Vaguely, Sandor heard a straggled cry and wailing. The head collapsed down next to his feet, and he kicked the disgusting face away, where it rolled near the tree where the little bird and long-haired boy were hiding. Sandor fingered the blood off from his sword. It was dark red, almost black. Breathing hard, he glanced around him. Parts of the snow were crimson red, and Shagga's body lied listless in the bed of snow. A single axe was held in his still hand. Sandor sheathed his sword into his scabbard. He looked behind him to see the little bird walking towards him.

"You…saved us." She said the words simply enough, but her words were strained and breathless. She removed her cowl and dark brown hair blew in the wind. "Thank you," she whispered, and gathered enough courage to look at him. Sandor was surprised. After the incident with the mob, the little bird hadn't been able to look at him. Fear was present in her eyes. There was no fear now. Sandor grunted, determined to show her how much this maenad to him, and crouched down to her dress beneath her coat. He unsheathed sword again and gently cut away the longest helms.

"What are you –?" Sansa replied, confused. She tried to break away from him, but Sandor's heavier from prevented her from escaping.

"Stay still, girl." The little bird fell silent until the last of the helms had been cut. "You will be able to move around easier now." Sandor stood and walked carefully to the tree where the boy was hiding. He heard the little bird's light steps behind him. Once he saw her, they boy ran into her arms and cried nosily. Sandor cursed under his breath. The crying would encourage other savages to come here where they were. Sansa was calming the child down, stroking his hair. "My sweetrobin was very brave, much braver than I was."

"You were not brave boy," Sandor snapped. He saw both of them flinch at the harshness of his words. "You were sniveling and did nothing to keep her safe," he gestured toward Sansa. "You feed his false courtesies and lies," he spat at her. "Have I told you how much I hate liars?" Ignoring the little bird's feeble responses, Sandor entangled the boy from her and cut the boy's hair. This time, the boy was silent and didn't protest. "What is your name?" he rasped.

"My name is Robert Arryn." The boy's hair was now falling to the ground in uneven clumps like dirty snow. Sandor cut his hair until it was ear length. "You will be known as Robert from this day forward and not," he said with a glance at Sansa, "sweetrobin."

Sansa Stark and Robert Arryn rode with Sandor Clegane silently on Stranger. He held onto Stranger's reins as Sansa and Robert held onto him and onto each other. Both of the children were quiet, which was part of his doing. The little bird remained silent as they crossed the river, but spoke once they had crossed it. Robert had fallen asleep in her arms and she was holding onto him so he couldn't fall off. "My father once said to my older brother that the only time to be brave in when you're afraid." A muffled sob came from her throat. "I'm sorry…but I try to make Robert brave by telling him he is. You tell the truth, as always." Sandor hadn't replied as she had said this, but considered her words. As her sleeping form rested against him late into the night, Sandor remembered the countless times when his sister had comforted him after their brother's wrath and their father's abuses. He recalled her singing into his ear as he fell asleep, making the nightmares go away. She hadn't told him that he wasn't brave.

_We were all cowards once, _Sandor reflected.

* * *

The next chapter will feature Brienne of Tarth as she travels the riverlands with Jaime Lannister. (Kingslayer.) More characters are to come as the series is expanded, and prepare for heavy SanSan romance in the future chapters, my adoring fans.


	5. Brienne I

_Brienne I_

Brienne of Tarth rode next to Jamie Lannister. She hadn't expected him to come, but he had. The self-satisfied smile on his face was gone now, replaced with a grim line. _What possessed him to leave his men? _She wondered, glancing at the knight known as the Kingslayer. His formerly mangled golden beard was neatly trimmed, and his stump lied limply on his side. He seemed somehow changed since Brienne had last seen him. She remembered how he had stared at her until she called his name, and she wondered bitterly if her own lord father would recognize her. Brienne fingered her scars on her cheeks. Her scars were fresh, but blood had ceased to flow from them. Pulps of flesh were missing from her cheeks. Bite marks crisscrossed her face, and Jamie was tactful enough to not mention them. Sometimes at night Brienne still remembered how Biter had meant to eat her alive. His hiss still echoed in her ears, and when she ate, Brienne remembered his slimly tongue licking the blood off her face. However, that wasn't the worst of the nightmare. Lady Stoneheart. That name sent shudders down Brienne's entire body. Brienne had been horrified at seeing Lady Catelyn Stark undead, her former beautiful face covered in scratches, her hair brittle and white. The kindness was gone from her eyes. Brienne couldn't understand what she was saying until one of the Brotherhood with Banners had told her. In order to prove her allegiance to Lady Stoneheart, she had to kill Jamie Lannister. Brienne had refused and pleaded with the former woman who had been so kind to her, but her pleas had turned on to deaf ears. Her friends had paid with their lives. And Pod…oh, poor Pod. The boy had served her faithfully, devotedly, and was loyal to her. Now he was dead, hung because her folly.

Brienne had been released after she had shouted out that name. After that, everything became a blur. She remembered riding on her mare without a direction. Then she remembered falling onto her knees, crawling into the river. For the first time since she was a child, she sobbed until her throat was raw and red eyes stung. _How could this have happened? _Brienne had wanted to scream. _How could a boy of twelve and an old man be killed? _Brienne continued to bitterly sob, her tears falling down into the river, splashing faintly against her ears. She held her sword in her hands, the sword that Jaime had given her to find the lost Sansa Stark. _"Ned Stark's own steel," _he had said. She had promised him that he would find the sole heir to the North and bring her home. That was her last promise to Lady Catelyn Stark, the woman who she had pledged her life to. The female knight stood, slightly stumbling, and shook tears from her eyes. As she climbed back onto her horse, she was startled to find a huge black horse speeding across the river. She vaguely saw the rider. Shielding her eyes, Brienne saw that the rider was as huge at his mount. A cowl covered his face; she couldn't see his expression and observed that a smaller figure was clinging to him. A fierce wind uncovered her own cowl, and Brienne was stunned to see the face of Sansa Stark look worriedly at the small figure that was clutching her more desperately than she was clutching the rider himself. Her face was pale, making her eyes bluer than they were, and a hint of auburn hair colored her crown. The rest of her hair was dark brown, bewildering Brienne even more. As the horse ran past, Brienne had a sudden memory of a very similar horse kept in a stable in the Quiet Isle, who was dark as night and had almost torn off a brother's ear. That was the Hound's mount. The only person who could control the furious horse would be the Hound. Brienne remembered what the Elder Brother had told her. _"The Hound is dead." No,_ she thought, searching for anyone who would rescue the poor girl, _the Hound is alive._

Jaime Lannister rode up closer to her and said, "Where aren't you searching for my dwarf brother? He could grant you ladyship, wench."

"It's the Hound I want," she said patiently. She had gotten used to his teasing. At one time he had wounded her with his words, but that had quickly ceased after he lost his sword hand. "He's the one who has Sansa Stark."

An uncharacteristic expression of concern etched Jaime's face. "Brienne, the Hound is three times more dangerous and vicious than my brother. In the Saltpans –"

"That was an imposter," she interrupted. A sudden question entered her mind. "Jaime, there was a brother on the Quiet Isle who told me that the Hound was dead, and yet I saw the Hound with Sansa Stark with my very own eyes. Why would he lie?"

"Maybe he was using the Hound as a piece of Sandor Clegane's personality," Jamie suggested.

"What do you mean?" Brienne asked.

Jamie shrugged. "Some people may say that the Kingslayer is dead because he lost his sword hand and hunger for battle. But does that mean I'm dead? No." Half to himself, Jamie uttered, "the Hound may have been a brutal man, but he would never do anything like those fuckers did in the Saltpans."

Brienne looked at him curiously. "You sound as if you know him."

To her surprise, Jamie nodded. "Aye. He served House Lannister when his older brother, Ser Gregor, came of age. Sandor didn't want anything to do with him, and he stayed away from him as far as he could. It was rumored that his elder brother killed their father and sister. They never found the female Clegane's body. I was actually rather fond of the sister. She served our house and was a maid while her father and brother were knights. Her name was Anor," Jamie said, noticing a question in Brienne's eyes. "She and her Sandor were very close, it appeared. _"I live for him," _she told me once. _"And he lives for me." _The day she died, Sandor pledged his loyalty to House Lannister." Jamie fell silent.

"And?" Brienne fished.

"The only reason why my father allowed him to become a sworn shield to my sweet sister was because of the Sack of King's Landing. Even though he was only twelve years old at the time, the Hound killed men half his age. Many men. Anor was horrified, and I…heard her crying in Cersei's empty bedchamber the night before she died. _"He killed for me. He killed to keep me safe. Now my little brother is known as the Hound."_ Then Jamie gave a sudden laugh. "The Hound got his name not from the loyalty to the Lannisters, but to his sister. Somehow he knew that whoever came into King's Landing, they would harm his sister, and killed for his loyalty and devotion." Then Jamie sobered suddenly. "He was already cursing knights and our sers, even though he could have one of us at age twelve. The Hound especially hated the Kingsguard. The commons were afraid of him because of his ugly scars. He had scar burns even then, but he didn't give a fuck with they though. He didn't fear anything…except fire."

"Did he fear his brother?" Brienne asked curiously. The Elder Brother had said that the Hound had never loved anyone, but it turned out that he was wrong. Her heart melted sympathy for Anor Clegane.

"No, he only hated Gregor." Jamie sighed. "After his sister died, there was no one he loved. That man mocked both gods and men. I don't think he would harm Sansa though, Brienne." Brienne looked at Jaime in shock. "Sansa Stark would only remind the Sandor of his sister. Even I saw the similarities when I first saw the elder Stark girl. Sansa's death would be painful enough; the Hound has to protect her. I heard of how he saved her from the mob, as he saved his sister years before. He's not the man he appears to be." Brienne looked at Jaime, and only saw genuine faith in his eyes. Finally, she nodded.

"We have to find them," she said.

"You say that he and Sansa Stark are a day's ride from here?" Jaime asked. Brienne nodded. "Where would they go from Riverrun? The riverlands are destroyed and the South is in chaos."

Brienne had the answer. "No matter how heavy the anarchy, a maiden will always have a home to go home to too. Sansa Stark went to the North, ser Jamie."


	6. Sansa III

_Sansa III_

Sansa and Robert were ordered to rest while the Hound stood guard that night. The river in the Trident swelled and roared despite the Seven Kingdoms enduring winter. The waves were fast and cruel. Sansa told Robert many times that he would not go near the Trident. A boy of his size would undoubtedly drown. Fortunately, Robert was too exhausted from their ride to complain. In the Eyire, the child would whine that he was too afraid to go on Stranger, and would later whine about the grime and droplets of blood on his coat. Robert would whine that he was cold and hungry. Now the physically frail child became silent throughout their ride from the High Road to the Trident, and fell asleep as soon as his body made contact with the blanket of snow. Sansa looked at him. The boy's hair was cut short down to his ears, and was mildly tangled from the wind and tree branches that had crossed their paths_. __"You were not brave boy. You feed him false courtesies and lies. Have I told you how much I hate liars? From this day forward you will be known as Robert, and not sweetrobin."_

The Hound had spoken the truth. She had fed him false courtesies and lies…because that was all she knew. From an early age, Sansa had been told that courtesy was a lady's armor. She had watched as her mother greeted guests of Winterfell throughout the years, always with grace and a smile. Her mother had been taught to believe in the same words as she had, and Sansa strived to be as graceful, beautiful, and radiant as Lady Catelyn Stark. Sansa had thought that her mother would approve of her treatment to Robert Arryn; he was her nephew after all, the son to her younger sister. Sansa also felt that it was her duty to be a mother to Robert. The boy had no family with his mother's death, and he was too sickly to play with the children or risk a shaking fit. She wondered now if she should have prepared him for this world. Like her, Robert had been fiercely protected and lived life in a song. Perhaps she shouldn't have called him sweetrobin to encourage him, and instead told him the truth, as the Hound did. Unbidden tears rose in her eyes. Her mother, with her courtesies and high position, was dead. Sansa's false courtesies were seen through, and had been beaten countless times during her imprisonment in King's Landing. And now Robert had forcibly learned that not everything in this world was good. He had been almost killed, and had his hair cut. Robert would no longer be the sweet and whiny boy that he was. His innocence was wasting away, as had hers. Sansa remembered of how she had pushed Littlefinger out of the window. Now sitting in the darkness, Sansa was glad that he was dead. If she had uttered an apology to Queen Cersei for ending his life, the woman would be able to see through her façade. _Sometimes truth is more valuable than false courtesies and lies, _Sansa thought. That was something the Hound would say, and she glanced at the man who was guarding them for the night.

Sansa's and Robert's savior was standing solely in the moonlight. Even though the moon shone brilliantly, Sansa couldn't see the Hound's face. The sword that he had killed the hill tribe man with was now clean of blood. Although a huge man, he had moved silently and swiftly, almost with grace as the hill tribe man tried to kill him without thought or discipline. Sansa hadn't seen him in battle before. She only remembered of how he had saved her from the mob bent on raping her and murdering her. He had come in the darkest of moments, swiftly breaking anyone bent of hurting her aside. He had _killed_ for her. Sansa was grateful that darkness covered her so the Hound wouldn't see her tremble. She wondered if he had ever killed for anyone else. Or was it for the sake of killing? The Hound had told her that killing was the sweetest thing there was, and that her father had lied. _"Killing is the sweetest thing there is." _That day, she had seen the furious rage in his eyes. It was almost as if…he was cutting ghosts from his pasts. What did he see that day? And now he had killed for her again. For her _and _Robert. It occurred to Sansa that she shouldn't call him the Hound anymore. He had saved her life not once, but twice, despite knowing that he could die in the attempt. _"A hound will die for you, but never lie to you." He would die for me,_ Sansa thought. _I can't call him ser, he hates knights. But if I call him by his name, would he accept that?_

Sansa decided to approach him. Snow crushed beneath her shoes, and he sharply turned towards her. Gulping, she tried to look at his face. The scars from his burns seemed to have protruded out in the moonlight. The scars entwined in each other, creating a mass, and his dark hair was sleek with sweat. Sansa suddenly looked in his lips. The left side was free of flesh, but the right side looked pleasantly pink and full. She had a memory of being kissed by him, and flushed, remembering how good it felt. Sansa looked away, hoping he wouldn't notice how her cheeks turned the color of apples. "You still can't look at me, girl?" he rasped. Sansa hesitantly looked back at him, and was surprised of how hollow his dark eyes were. They were grey, Sansa noticed, darker than her own father's. Lord Eddard Stark's eyes had been the color of storm clouds, but Sandor's was the color of a wolf's coat. Sansa remembered how his eyes had been burning with dull anger when she had first met him. He had threatened to kill her if she had told anyone what he had told her that night; about how he had gotten his burns. Sansa thought that his eyes didn't hold anger. In fact, they seemed strangely vacant and tired. She broke her gaze with him and felt slightly hollow. "I can now, Sandor." Her voice was strangely quiet and soft, like the voice of a child, not of a maiden of almost fourteen. If Sandor had reacted to Sansa saying his name, he didn't show it. He continued to stare at her face, without anger or disgust.

"You seem…different." Sansa's voice faltered, but Sandor only tilted his head slightly. "You don't seem angry or hateful anymore."

"I found most of my peace at the Quiet Isle." His voice was strangely calm, and seemed less deep than Sansa remembered. "You have changed too, little bird," he said, using her nickname. "You have felt sorrow and death, something a highborn child wouldn't encounter. You're not a child anymore, one who believes in white knights and red roses." He fell silent, and Sansa looked at him again. Blue eyes met grey as he said, "You can look at my face now, something you could never do as a summer child." Sansa felt a sudden urge to touch his face. Her smaller hand touched the scarred side, and she found that the skin was smooth, soft as she continued to hold her hand there. Sandor's eyes were sad. "I couldn't protect you from those fuckers in the white cloaks as they beat you." Sansa didn't flinch. "I should have taken you with me, little bird. Then you wouldn't have to be married by the fucking dwarf." His mouth twitched. "He took your maidenhead." The only sound for the next few minutes was Sandor's breathing. Sansa shook her head, seeing the pain and anger in his eyes. She didn't take away her hand away from his face.

"He didn't take it, Sandor," she breathed. His dark eyes were blank with confusion. "The Imp _couldn't_." She found herself cupping the other side of his face with her other hand. "I was only a child to him." Sansa noticed wetness around Sandor's long lashes. Her face was so close to him she could smell him. He smelled of sweat, blood, and not of wine. For the first time in their intimacy, Sandor Clegane wasn't drunk. But perhaps she was. She was drunk on…what? She watched as his tears melted into her mouth, tasting like salt. She licked her lips.

"I have to protect you, little bird." Sandor's voice was uncharacteristically emotional. "The boy, Robert, too. If I'm gone, what will happen to both of you?"

Sansa felt her heart turn to ice. For a moment it was hard to take a breath. She couldn't imagine Sandor gone from the world. "You won't die," she whispered fervently. "You _can't _die."

Sandor was patient with her, and gently pulled her hands away from his face. They fell limply at her waist. "I _will _die little bird. As your father did. My sister died as well, and I had to learn my swordsmanship from my brother's brutality and on my own. I will not lie to you. My head is wanted across all the Seven Kingdoms, especially for deserting the crown and the Saltpans. I won't fuck up Robert that way without giving him skills he needs to survive."

"What are you going to do?" Sansa whispered. She felt slightly weak and hollow, as if all her strength had gone from her body.

"A boy should know how to use a sword," he said calmly. "He should have three or two years of experience at his age. I mean to make him strong." Sandor looked away from her, staring at the moon above them. Sansa felt as if a sword had pierced her in the heart. Robert with a sword? She couldn't envision it. Robert had been too frail the play outside with other children; how would he be able to hold and fight with a sword? Sansa forced her pessimistic opinions down and saw that Sandor was moving towards the Trident. He carefully stepped over the sleeping form of Robert.

"What did you mean by the Saltpans?" Sansa inquired. She stood behind Sandor now and heard him sigh at her questions.

"There was an imposter from the Brave Companions that invaded the Saltpans. He had my helm, and raped a girl of twelve before gouging her breasts." Sansa gave a horrified gasp. "People in the Seven Kingdoms believe that I, the Hound did it. The Elder Brother told me that the Hound is dead, but…" He shook his head.

"We have clear your name!" Sandor turned around, surprised at her outburst. Sansa was surprised as well, but didn't falter. "The Hound is dead, but Sandor Clegane is not. Those names are intertwined nonetheless, and are soiled now." Her voice was reduced to a whisper. "I can't believe anyone thought you did those things."

Sandor's mouth twitched, a sign that he was angry, she noticed. "Little bird, nothing good will come of clearing my name. I'm still called the Lannister dog even though they think I'm either a rapist or dead." His grey eyes met hers. "You are called the murderer of that shit Joffrey Barthoen. _Our _names are soiled, Sansa." It was the first time he had ever said her name. "They will always be."

"That is why we must go to the South," she stated. "I heard from Littlefinger that Queen Cersei is under imprisonment and arrest. Queen Magarey will understand if we explain." Sandor still seemed unconvinced. "My home is cold, Sandor. Stranger and Robert will never survive. The North is in the hands of Ramsy Bolton and in the Wall…" Sansa swallowed and wouldn't allow herself to weep. "On the Wall the Lord Commander Jon Snow is dying." Her voice became thick. "At Riverrun, my uncle has sworn loyalty to the Lannisters for the sake of his family. There is nowhere else we can _go_, Sandor."

Sandor remained silent for a couple of moments. He stared at Sansa struggling to hold her composure, and finally said, "You're no longer a summer child. Yes, we will go." Sansa nodded as he continued. "Rest, little bird. We'll leave on the morrow."

A sudden question came to her mind. "You said that in the Quiet Isle you found most of your peace. How will you find the rest of your peace?"

"By protecting you, little bird."

His words echoed in her mind as she fell into a dreamless sleep beside Robert. His warmth warmed Sansa, melting the coldness around them. _"By protecting you, little bird."_


	7. Sandor III

_Sandor III_

Sandor observed Robert Arryn's movements as the boy tried to move the stick he held in his hands without a tremor. He failed miserably. The boy's hands shook as he held the stick in front of him, and tried without success to not look afraid. Sandor could smell the boy's fear. _"A dog can smell a lie, you know." _He had told the little bird that once; he could also smell fear, anger, and sadness. Last night he could smell her sadness when she talked about the Wall and her bastard half-brother. Sandor had heard the rumors as well. The boy Jon Snow was barely alive from his wounds. His direwolf, the one he called Ghost, never left his side as he remained bedridden and feverish. The raven too would leave only to peak the black brother's faces, shouting _"Jon Snow! Jon Snow!" _Sandor couldn't blame the brothers for thinking that their leader was half a wildling. The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch should be dead by all means, but the bastard son of Eddard Stark was alive. Sandor turned his attention to Robert Arryn once more. The end of the stick he held had a sharp point. Sandor had sharpened it himself as half-suppressed memories of his sister Anor doing the same when he was age six resurfacing in his mind. He had thrown the sharpened stick to the boy, hoping in vain that Robert would catch it with his small hands. The stick had fallen into the snow instead.

Sandor hadn't been able to catch a stick either when his brother had thrown it to him. But instead of waiting for Robert to handle the stick as Sandor did now, Gregor had repeatedly beaten the six year old until Sandor could catch the stick as it flew. Until his burns, Sandor hadn't held weaponry before. His father and brother had said that warriors were often ugly; Sandor's burns and scars wouldn't matter to them. _They were going to send me to a pleasure house if my sister didn't comply, _he remembered. His sister had then been forced to watch as her younger brother endured the torture of swordsmanship under her older brother, Gregor, who was large and cruel for his thirteen years. At the present time, the little bird was watching Sandor and Robert as they practiced. Unlike Anor, who had been terrified as her brothers practiced, Sansa appeared collected, albeit nervous as she observed Robert's shaking hands as he held the stick in front of him again. _"A boy should know how to use a sword. He should have three or two years of experiences at his age. I mean to make him strong." _According to her, Robert was eight years old. Sandor personally thought of him as five, with his weak voice and body. Sandor could easily smell his fear. The boy's big brown eyes were larger than normal, and his breathing was rapid. _The wolf bitch would tear him apart, _Sandor thought with mild amusement. He remembered of how the little bird's younger sister had stabbed the Tickler until he was stabbed like a stuck pig drowning in his own blood. She had killed his brother's pimply squire as well. "Do you know how to use a sword against enemies, Robert?" Sandor asked.

The boy had visibly shuddered at the word enemies, but held the make-shift sword tight. "Stick them with the pointy end," he breathed. Sandor looked behind him to find the little bird with a faint smile on her face. She was smiling at Robert, he knew, but it felt as if she was smiling at _him_. He remembered what she had told him about the Imp. _"He didn't take my maidenhead." _Sandor hadn't known how deeply scarred he was by Tyrion Lannister marrying Sansa Stark. He had held the anger and helplessness inside, until the point he didn't care if he lived or died. His little bird could no longer be protected by him, just like with his sister. Sandor recalled of how tears and sobs had racked through him as he pleaded the gift of mercy to anyone who could hear his pleas and dying breath. The Elder Brother, like Arya Stark, had refused. _"You have another purpose here." _Now Sandor wondered if his purpose was to protect Sansa Stark and Robert Arryn. He remembered of how he had shed tears when the little bird had told him the truth about the Imp. He hadn't fucked her, he hadn't despoiled her. Sandor had been more surprised when she had cupped his face in her hands. How he wanted those soft hands to remain there, but he had to make her understand that he would not always be there. He was a wanted man. She didn't seem to want to understand that, which mildly shocked and amused him. _She cares for me,_ Sandor realized suddenly. He had seen her shock as well when he had told her that she brought him peace by protecting her. As she faded off to sleep, he heard her say, "He won't hurt me." _Aye, I won't, little bird. I won't hurt Robert either._ The said boy was holding the stick without a tremor now.

"Attack me, boy," Sandor growled. Much to his satisfaction, Robert darted forward without breaking stride. Sandor easily pushed him aside with his own stick. Robert fell onto his back, winded. At the corner of his eye, he saw the little bird hesitantly move forward, but Sandor held up his hand as a signal to not move. She complied. Robert stood up, snow falling from his back, and held up his sharpened stick again. He was still breathing hard, but Sandor noticed there was a fire in his eyes that hadn't been there before. "Are you giving up?" He provoked the boy. Robert shook his head. Sandor saw that the boy was shaking from his head to his feet, and he licked his dry cracked lips, trying to not show his fear. Sandor saw it clear enough. The boy was afraid to strike. _He's afraid of me as well. _The little bird had told him that for the eight years of his life, Robert had been pampered and sheltered by his mother. He was ill and weak, and very rarely went outside and played with children. Sandor already could see that the boy's milky-white skin was turning a shade darker, even from the infrequent sunlight. Robert Arryn was thought to never be a knight, even though he wanted to be one. "There is only one time to brave, Robert," Sandor said to him. The boy looked up, startled. "Don't give up, Robert," he said more gently. He looked into Robert's big brown eyes and saw the fear deep inside him. "Attack me even though you're fearful. That is what means to be brave."

Robert's hands continued to shake Sandor spoke. Suddenly, they went lax, and for a moment Sandor thought he had given up. Not so. The boy ran towards him, faster than before on his fragile eight year old legs, and hefted the stick up above his head. Sandor quickly parried his clumsy strike, and pushed Robert to the ground. The boy managed to get on his feet again when he realized that his stick wasn't in his hand. Sandor threw the stick to him, and his pleasure the boy caught it. Robert continued to run at him multiple times. Every time the boy's parries grew stronger and less clumsy. He got up quicker on his feet, and the fear that had consumed him slowly disappeared from his eyes. On his next thrust, Sandor grasped his other arm and made a slashing motion to Robert's neck. "You're dead," he rasped. He immediately loosened his grip on Robert, who collapsed on his knees and started to shed tears. Sandor ignored his internal irritation and crouched down to the boy. "Look with your eyes boy, and use your speed." Robert didn't respond. Red welts covered the boy's palms, and were bleeding. _Wounds become scars and scars becomes a memory, _he thought as he told Sansa about Robert's hands. _Eventually your entire body becomes a memory for all the wounds you've received. _Sandor had many scars besides the scar burn on his face. His hands themselves were a mass of them. As he watched the little bird tend to Robert's welts, Sandor saw as the boy flinched as she instructed him to put his hands in the cool water. _This will be your first scar, Robert. _The boy's hands were now healing under a bandage. _Nor will it be your last._

Robert fell asleep not long after. His light body slightly thumped against Stranger's back as they rode to the South. The little bird was holding onto him. Sandor had noticed that the little bird's hair was starting to change back to its natural color. Strands of auburn hair covered her forehead, and the color was spreading along the sides. _She is the only fire I don't fear, _Sandor thought for the second time. Her hair was now obscured by her cowl, as was his hair. Now that they were traveling again, their identities would remain hidden. A day's ride on the Kingsroad had come and gone, and now stars appeared in the dark of night. The little bird was unusually silent.

_Is she regretting her decision? _Sandor remembered of how adamant she was about clearing their names by going to the South. He had tried to discourage her thoughts, but Sansa had remained firm. _This is the place where her father was murdered, where she was imprisoned and wounded; both emotionally and physically. She wants to go to King's Landing, where I put a knife to her throat and threatened her unless she sang me a song. _Suddenly Sandor was reminded of how her younger sister had been the same way. The girl had wanted to believe that her mother was alive, despite knowing inside that she was dead. _"We have to get my_ mother_. Maybe we can _save_ her…" _The warrior she had desperately wanted to became had disappeared that night, becoming a small girl again. How she hated to be weak, and how she hated to depend on anyone. Arya Stark didn't know that was how Sandor had felt at her age. Sandor had run away from home at age twelve. Clegane's Keep was solemn and still from Robert's Rebellion. His father and brother had left him and his sister. Normally, the boy would have been gleeful to have himself alone to his sister, but something wasn't right. Anor was in King's Landing, one of the many servants of Tywin Lannister, and had told him to stay safe. For some reason Sandor hadn't wanted to stay safe. He wanted to protect his sister, the beloved sister who had taken care of him since his birth. Sandor wanted to protect his sister for once, and he was under an illusion that he had…until he had returned home and was forced to watch as Gregor fucked their sister and tore her heart out.

Sandor had told himself that he would protect his little bird. He had failed multiple times and was determined that this time would be different. He suddenly felt a small hand on his own, and looked down to find the little bird squeezing his fingers. "You may not believe in knights," she whispered, "but…you are _my _knight. You are _Robert's _knight. I don't care if you're a killer. I don't care…" Sandor felt the little bird's tears rolling on his hand, but he didn't brush them away. "I don't care about your past. You are my hound." Her glittering eyes peered at his own. "A hound will die you for you, but never lie to you. That's what you told me. And I know you won't hurt me. I know you won't hurt Robert. You won't hurt me," she repeated. Sandor felt her warmth against him as she breathed sleepily. He felt her snuggle against him as the night grew longer, and felt himself stroke her hair. "Aye," he hoarsely whispered as she slept. "I won't hurt you." How beautiful she was. Sandor removed her cowl and gently kissed her hair, hoping she would wake, but she didn't. He brushed snowflakes from her hair.


	8. Sandor IV

_Sandor IV_

Sandor Clegane was showing Robert Arryn how to clean a sword when the boy looked up at him. A fortnight ago, Robert hadn't been able to even glance at Sandor's face. Now the boy looked at him as if he had done it all his life. "Yes?" He was irritated that Robert had interrupted his concentration.

"Do you love her?" The question was so unexpected that Sandor snarled at the boy. To his pleasure, Robert flinched and remained silent for the next couple of minutes. He didn't notice how cold sweat dripped down Sandor's face. "Do you love Sansa?" The question came out as a squeak, and the boy avoided his eyes when Sandor tried to see his purpose. The boy, it appeared, was only curious.

"Why do you ask that?" Sandor rasped. His heart beat faster as he prepared himself to tell a lie. "I've never loved anyone."

"Yes, you have!" Robert spoke with unusual certainty in his voice that Sandor put down his oilcloth and sword. "I see the same sadness in your eyes as I have!"

"What the fuck does a sickly boy know about sorrow?" Sandor's anger got the better of him, and he leaned close towards Robert. He could see the tiny freckles doting boy's face, and saw the bruises and blisters on his hands. "You won't feel true sorrow until winter releases its wrath, until hunger gnaws your body until you beg for the mercy of death." The boy almost looked terrified now, and Sandor felt as if wine were running through his veins. "Sorrow eats you up, boy, like a horrible disease that consumes you until you're a shell of your former self, mad with grief…until you see ghosts and beg them to take them with you." He spat at his sword and rubbed the oilcloth furiously. "Then you either live or you die."

Robert was silent for a couple of moments. He watched as Sandor continued to clean his sword that didn't need cleaning. Sandor was trying to suppress his memories of his sister's death and the agony after. He heard her screaming his name, for the brother who she had raised herself, and heard his brother's laughter. He felt his father's strong body as he held him down, forcing him to witness Anor's rape and eventual decapitation. Sandor remembered holding his sister's head in his arms, sobbing, as his father and brother beat him, never letting her go… He never let go… Sandor could not suppress his memories any longer. Anor's laugh was in his ears, so much like the little bird's. She was sitting by the river stream while Sandor and Robert practiced with their swords. She was far away, so she wouldn't hear his heart screaming. He almost didn't hear Robert ask, "Have you experienced that kind of sorrow?"

"Yes," Sandor answered dully. He remembered too well of how, at age twelve, he had already developed a fondness for wine. _It was to drown the pain away. _By the time the little bird had come to King's Landing, Sandor had fallen into a drunken sleep every chance he could get. The pain of his sister's death simply would not go away. Killing people, seeing their blood seep on his armor and hearing the desperate screams allowed his a quiet peace for a time. It reassured him that his sister was not the only one to die in pain and in fear before Gregor had beheaded her. _"It gives me joy to kill people,"_ he remembered telling Sansa that once after he had saved her from the riot. _"Killing's the sweetest thing there is." _However, that was before the little bird had arrived. Somehow he had wanted to protect her and shield her and tell her the _truth_. Anor had died, but the little bird would live. Sandor had promised himself that.

"And I…" Robert hesitated. "I haven't experienced that kind of sorrow?"

Sandor shook his head. "No, Robert." He heard himself say. "Nor has Sansa." Sandor's heart beat faster from saying her name and despite himself his throat tightened. Although she had lost her father, mother, brothers, and home, the little bird had not experienced the bone-crushing and cold sorrow that Sandor had experienced seventeen years past. The pain had resulted into a dull ache, but at the most unexpected times, the pain was as raw as ever. Sandor had hoped that the little bird would never experience anything like that.

"Master." Sandor turned to find Robert speaking to him. _He's never called me that before, and I've never seen him so calm. _"Do you love Sansa?"

Sandor forced himself to be honest with the boy and forgo his sensitive pride. "Yes."

Sandor found the little bird sitting on her knees, watching the ice and snow melt into the river stream. He sat down beside her, not saying anything. He wanted her to speak first. Sandor watched as her lovely white throat moved with every breath she took. He saw a single tear flow from an eye, and wanted to wipe it away. "You may not remember," she began, halting slightly. Her voice shook and she wouldn't look at him, from fear of angering him or shaming herself, he couldn't tell. "This was the only stop we made before we arrived in King's Landing. The king and my father were alive. Arya wasn't missing, and the Seven Kingdoms were at peace." Her chin trembled. "Joffrey was my prince," she whispered, "and I was foolish enough to believe that he would love me. I can't get over how _stupid _I was. Arya knew what I refused to see, and now she's gone." Sandor watched as the little bird started to tremble throughout her entire body. He wanted to tell her that her younger sister wasn't dead and that she wasn't stupid back then; she was only a girl, but then he stopped himself. The Hound had more truth in him than Sandor Clegane.

"He was kind to me then. He told me I was beautiful. I still remember how happy it made me when I heard his words." Sansa closed her eyes and licked her dry lips, chapped from the freezing cold. "He threatened that boy to fight with Arya. A boy who _never_ should have been there. Arya and her direwolf attacked him, but that hadn't saved his life or Lady's." Now her slim form racked with sobs. "If I had said something, then that boy and Lady would be alive. But I wanted to impress my prince," the little bird whispered dully. "I wanted to _please_ him. And I…" Sansa's words were drowned when Sandor wrapped his hands around her trembling form. He hushed her, and gently stroked her auburn hair, which had now returned to its natural color. His hands were gentle as he embraced her. The little bird slowly stopped shaking. Her tears ceased, and Sandor found himself looking at her beautiful blue eyes.

"Everyone makes mistakes," he said. She didn't move, locked onto his gaze. He too could be lost in her eyes. "Even I, little bird. When I was twelve years old, I witnessed my sister's death with my very own eyes. I could have stopped it; I could have saved her life; but I didn't." He was uncomfortably aware of how the little bird's breasts rubbed against him. "Her name was Anor," he continued. "Anor Clegane was my older sister, and she raised me as a son from my mother's death in childbed. Did you know I was known as the Hound because of my fierce loyalty to her?"Sandor asked her. He brushed away little auburn curls that covered her forehead. She shook her head. "I was only twelve years old. Anor was sixteen. We both had hoped that our father and brother had died in Robert's Rebellion, but they…hadn't. Gregor was angry at both of us for leaving Clegane's Keep without his leave, and with our father's consent, he inflamed my punishment on my sister.

"I was a warrior, they had heard, who had slaughtered over thirty men in the Sack of King's Landing, and said that a warrior should be able to witness atrocities without shedding a tear." The cold air was affecting him; it was hard to breathe, and Sandor tightened his grip on the little bird. "I remember watching as my brother tore of my sister's clothes and beat her until he put his fucking cock inside her. I remember screaming, shouting Anor's name until my voice was hoarse. My father held me down, enjoying every moment of his eldest son defiling his daughter. Anor's blood was on my clothes, and on my face. My strength had turned into nothingness when my brother cut…he cut Anor's head from her body. Then he tore her heart out for me to see. That is when I cried. I _cried. _I couldn't stop the bleeding in my heart, and after my brother killed my father and beat me until I was unconscious, my last thought was that I wished I was dead." Sandor felt the little bird look at him with red eyes. _She's sobbing for me,_ he realized suddenly. "We both have past actions that we'd rather forget, Sansa. I couldn't save my sister, and you couldn't save your father." He took her hands in his own and gave them a gentle squeeze. "But we have a choice. Only this moment matters, Sansa. Right here and right now. We can contemplate our past actions and decide to make _the right _choices even though we're afraid."

"That's why you searched for me and found me and protected me." The little bird's eyes were flowing with tears that collected on Sandor's hands.

"Aye," he agreed. "That is why you want to go to King's Landing even when it might be your death. That is why your sister chose to spare me as I was dying beside the Trident." He watched as the little bird's eyes widened and her mouth opened and closed in confusion. "Arya Stark, your younger sister, is alive. I don't know where she's gone, but she's far away from Westeros, I can assure you." He lightly traced Sansa's face with his fingers. "She could have killed me that day, but she said I was didn't deserve the gift of mercy.

"Back in King's Landing, you sang me a song. Could you sing it for me again?" He leaned in close to her face, and could count the eyelashes on her eyes. Sansa nodded, never wavering her gaze from him.

_"Gentle Mother, font of mercy,_

_save our sons from war, we pray,_

_stay the swords and stay the arrows,_

_let them know a better day._

_Gentle Mother, strength of woman,_

_help our daughters through this fray,_

_soothe the wrath and tame the fury,_

_teach us all a kinder way."_

"Beautiful," Sandor whispered, placing his hand on her cheek.

"And then you took the song and kissed me," the little bird said, breathless.

"What?" Sandor was so startled by her statement that he dropped his hand from her face.

"You kissed me," the little bird whispered feverishly. She took his larger hand in her own and placed it on her cheek, leaning even closer to him. "You kissed me after I sang you that song."

"I…didn't." Sandor's voice was no more than a rasp again, and he found it difficult to control his tongue. "You…must have imagined it...wanting it so badly?" Their faces were so close their noses touched. He could see Sansa's breath in the cold air.

Sansa smiled. It was the most beautiful smile that Sandor had ever seen. "Will you kiss me now?"

"Yes," Sandor breathed.

Her lips found his and he was amazed of how soft and warm they were against his own. He felt her own lips pluck against his own and felt her hands running through his hair. She kissed him again, full on the mouth, and felt himself kiss her back. The desire and passion she had was shown through the kiss, of how she gently bit the corner of his lip as he kissed her again. Sandor let out a low moan. So did she. "I love you," he whispered feverishly in her ear. "I love you."


	9. Sansa IV

_Sansa IV_

Sansa remembered the kiss. She remembered of his lips had latched onto his, hesitant and clumsy at the same time. He had never kissed anyone before, she realized as plucked her lips for a breath and kissed him again full on the mouth. Thoughts were racing through her mind as she pulled her fingers through his hair. His damaged lips were unexpectedly smooth and warm as he pulled her closer to him. Sansa had never felt passion like this with anyone before. At age of eleven she thought had loved Joffrey, but she later realized that she loved the _thought_ of Joffrey, thinking of him as a gallant, handsome, and brave prince. Now Sansa was a maiden flowered with her fourteenth name day come and gone, and this moment here was the closest thing she had ever come to love. She had bitten onto a corner of Sandor's lip as she kissed him again, she heard him groan with pleasure. _"I love you," _he had whispered then. _"I love you."_

Sansa found it hard to not stare at Sadnor Clegane as he rode on top on Stranger on the morrow. She and Robert were walking across from the war horse, and Sansa found it difficult to hide her embarrassment from Robert, who had been oblivious to her passionate encounter with his mater. _That is what he calls him now,_ Sansa thought with a small smile on her face. _Robert appears to look up to Sandor._ The former sickly boy had been training hard with Sandor every day now. He was quite efficient with the make-shift sword, dodging Sandor's fierce and fast attacks with ease when before Robert had knocked to the ground. Sansa had also noticed a difference in the boy. He no longer had a fragile body, for his soft hands and long fingers had recently become rough and calluses were starting to appear. The shaking sickness had become a distant memory to Sansa, and Robert was quick to learn; he could make a fire better than she and had a mind for politics as well when she taught him lessons about the Houses of Westeros. However, when Robert had asked her about House Clegane, Sansa hadn't been able to even tell him their words. She had told him the history behind the minor house that served the Lannisters, a history that Sandor had told her when he had been the Hound. Robert had become silent when she had finished, strangely brooding.

Sansa had thought that when Sandor Clegane had saved her and Robert from the tribe hill man he would be cruel and vicious as he had been when he left the Battle of Blackwater. The Hound had told her the truth, but had been a drunkard and mocking towards her false curtsies. He had threatened her to sing him a song when a knife was at her throat, and then he had gone. Sansa had though he had kissed her, but that had been an illusion. The Hound had been no knight, but had been compassionate to her as well. _I had died as well when I heard he was dead from Littlefinger's lips. _It had been a lie, of course. Sansa had come to believe that the Hound had died beside the Trident and had been reborn as Sandor Clegane, a man – a warrior no less – who was softer than his alter ego would ever be, someone who was not always possessed by rage and hate. _"I love you,"_ he had told her. Sandor had whispered those three words into her ear twice. He had calmed her tears and had held her. The Hound would not do such a thing, but Sandor Clegane did. _"Sweet one, listen to me. When you're old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who's worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong."Is this the man you meant, Father, one who is worthy of me?_ Sansa would never know. Her father was dead, as was her lady mother. She would never approve of her daughter falling in love with a kennel master's grandson, who wasn't even a knight. Her daughter was more worthy than that, and an eleven year old Sansa would have agreed. _"Some septa taught you well. You're like one of those birds from the Summer Isles, aren't you? A pretty little taking bird, repeating all the pretty little words they taught you to recite." _ _I would have listened to my mother years ago, but now I don't want to be a chirping bird. I want to follow my heart. _

As Sansa came out of her thoughts, she began to realize that eyes were watching them. She looked up from the ground and suppressed a gasp of horror and shock. Eyes of dead men were watching them. They were hung, Sansa began to realize as every passing tree held one or two people. Some of them had blackened faces with their tongues hanging out; other's necks were broken; eyes were often open, helpless terror in the eyes, red foam forming at the mouth. Sansa saw that all of the victims had curly golden hair and green eyes or a weasel-like appearance. She gulped, staring at their frightened eyes. Somehow their deaths did not comfort her, even though her father had been decapitated by the Lannisters and her mother and older brother murdered by the Freys. She saw that among the hung men, there were dead women and children, soundless screams on their faces. "The Lannisters and the Freys…" she murmured. Somehow she could not look away.

"Why are they hung?" Robert asked with wide eyes. Suddenly he seemed to be his former self again.

"For them to suffer." Sandor's voice was raspy and he didn't look at the hung people. Suddenly he laughed. His suddenly laughter echoed the morose atmosphere that had suddenly consumed Sansa and Robert. Both of them flinched. "Hanging is slowest death you can get, unless you burn." Sandor's left face twitched. "Only a burned man knows what hell is like. It's a shame whoever did this couldn't catch the Imp. I would have loved to see his grotesque face suffer." He fell silent, and Sansa recoiled her gaze slightly from the hung men, women, and children. She wondered how Sandor could laugh about such a death, or perhaps it was the fact that he had been close to death a child from his brother. _"I don't want him dead. I want him _burned_." _Sansa remembered that Sandor had wanted the Imp dead as long as she could remember.

"Why do you hate the Imp so much?" Sansa left Robert's side and walked closer too Stranger and his rider. Sandor looked down to meet her eyes, and Sansa found that his eyes were full of dull rage, the exact same emotion she had encountered him with.

"He hurt you," Sadnor replied. Now three years older, Sansa didn't waver her gaze from his eyes. They appeared a darker shade of grey in the sunlight. "He took you away from me, and he married you." Sansa was shocked to find that his anger intensified, but this time it was directed at himself. "You should have come with me, little bird. I should have _made _you come with me." Before Sansa could reply, he soundlessly removed his sword from his scabbard on his side.

"What is it?" Sandor didn't answer her. He clutched Stranger's reins as Sansa heard sounds of feet approaching them. It appeared that the band of men were few; it appeared that a man wearing a yellow cloak was leading them. He had a brushy brown moustache, and cocked under his left arm was a helm. Behind him was a tall balding man with a sword, and he was leading a woman toward them. Suddenly Stranger started to stamp, his rolling and trying to escape. She felt cold, not from the wind that suddenly shook them, but from the _feeling _she had. Robert stood still and did not say a word as the leader in the yellow cloak walked to Sandor, who was trying to calm Stranger. Sansa felt a flash of fear for him with sweat quickly soaking her palms. _Does he mean to kill him? _Suddenly the man in the yellow cloak held up the helm and sneered.

"I have your helm, Clegane." Sandor didn't move as the man continued to speak. _He looks almost triumphant. _"People in the Seven Kingdoms now widely believe that the hangings of the Lannisters, Boltons, and the Freys were done by the infamous dog of Lannisters. Even what you supposedly did in the Saltpans is nothing compared to this." Sansa stared at the fearsome helm that Sandor once wore. The mouth was snarling, complete with sharp teeth. They steel eyes conveyed the rage within it. "You are now exactly like you fucking brother…except he's dead."

"Who the fuck are you?" Sandor's face looked like it was carved out of stone. His face was expressionless despite his obscene words.

"The Hound," the man in the yellow cloak stated. "Or Lem Lemoncloak, whatever you'd prefer." He mockingly bowed to Sandor, but that didn't even get a reaction. Sandor was observing the sole woman behind him in a cloak with a hood over her head, and who had hands as white as curdled milk and smelled of decaying flesh. Sansa shuddered, and looked back at the victims of the multiple hangings. Suddenly she remembered asking her father as a small child why the Brotherhood without Banners weren't _real _knights. _They've come as low as this, _Sansa thought with horror as she remembered her father telling her the story. She had the desire to get sick.

"You're the Brotherhood without Banners," she choked. Suddenly Lem stared at her curiously, and found that he was peering at her bosom. "How could you…how could you do this?" Her question was no more than a whisper, but Lem had heard.

"Are you not grateful, Lady Stark? We eliminated your enemies for you. The ones who murdered your family." He smiled, showing his rotten and brown teeth. "It's a crime for them to live when so many worthier men have died." He looked at Sandor with anger in his eyes. "Isn't that right, Clegane?"

Sandor shrugged. "I don't know if I should have lived or not, but Dondarrion served his purpose, it seemed." He continued to stare at the lone woman in the Brotherhood, and Sansa was shocked to see disgust in his eyes. "By reviving a dead woman to kill the traitors who betrayed her and her son."

"W-what do you mean?" Sansa felt herself trembling as she locked eyes with Sandor's. The disgust was gone quickly as it had come. "Who are you talking about?" Sansa could vaguely feel Robert's hand on her own clammy one, but she could only stare at the curdled-milk skin of the woman who was coming closer to her.

"Lady Stoneheart," Lem shouted, "show your daughter your face." The skeleton-like hand slowly removed the hood.

"My - ?" Sansa's words died in her throat as she saw the woman's left side of her face covered in scratches. They were deep, showing bone and decayed flesh. Her hair was white and brittle, and half of it had withered away. A slash mark on her neck pulsed, as if wanting blood to flow, but none did. This woman was dead, was _undead. _Sansa felt herself whimper as she stared into her eyes. Tully blue eyes stared back at her own. The same color and shape; but instead of kindness and love that Sansa was used to on her mother's face, hate only remained.

"Mother…" Sansa breathed as Lady Catelyn Tully reached out to grab her face. She quickly recoiled and fell to the ground. A sharp pain seared her backside, but she barely felt it after the undead body of her mother touched her skin with her hand. Sansa smelled the decayed flesh and felt how cold the hands were. She shuddered violently and pushed the hands away.

Lady Stoneheart stood, and began to speak, covering her throat wound with her hand. Her voice was unintelligible, rough, and difficult to understand. "She says she wants to know why you're here with a Lannister servant," Lem reveled. "You were the perfect daughter, unlike Arya."

"_Mother…" _Sansa moaned. Despite the heartache in her heart, her tears had frozen up like ice and snow.


	10. Brienne II

_Brienne II_

Brienne and Jamie were unprepared for the cold of the North. They were three days to Winterfell, if the map Brienne had was correct. They had found the worn map flowing in the wind, and Brienne had been able to catch it before it was lost forever in the sky. Brienne felt the worn map against her shoulder, crinkling in the wind. _The North truly is fearsome, _she thought, pulling her cloak closer to her. She looked backward towards Jaime, and saw that he was faring no better. His curly golden beard was frozen with snow. Squinting her eyes forward, Brienne could only see a white line. She urged her mount forward despite its protests, and shivered violently. _This is true winter, _Brienne thought as heavy snowflakes fell around them. Ice stung her face, and snowflakes interfered with her sight. Dimly she recalled the Stark words. "Winter is coming," she mouthed into the snow-and ice coated landscape. Although she was gigantic for a woman, the snow was now up to her knees. For once Brienne was grateful for her height.

_Lady Sansa is there in Winterfell. _Brienne closed her eyes briefly from the cold and opened them again. _She must be. _It appeared that much had occurred in the North while Brienne was searching for Sansa Stark. Winterfell had been taken over by Ramsay Bolton, the Bastard of the North, and had married Arya Stark. Jamie had told her that the girl was a ruse, although he had no idea who the girl truly was. Suddenly the bride had disappeared from her estranged and cruel husband; Ramsay Bolton had now left Winterfell vacated to search for his wife. On the Wall, the Lord Commander Jon Snow had almost met his death after his own men had attempted to assassinate him. When Brienne had voiced her contempt for the Lord Commander for breaking his vows, Jamie had unexpected said that Jon Snow was not the boy Lady Catelyn Tully had made him out to be. Brienne had broadened this comment as they rode to Winterfell despite the snow and the ice that was now coating their faces. It was true that the lady she had vowed to serve hated her lord husband's bastard son. She had mistrusted him, and had seemed to grieve with the fact that her younger trueborn sons of her body was dead while the bastard son of the same father lived. _"What was the name of the bastard he fathered? Snow, that was the one. Such a _white _name." _She remembered how Lady Catelyn's face had twisted in anger when Jamie had said those words. Although she had not met Robb Stark, her eldest son and the King of the North, it seemed that he and his bastard brother were close. _Perhaps they will meet together in the afterlife._ It was said that the Lord Commander was bedridden with wounds crisscrossing his body.

Brienne had also confirmed that Stannis was riding to Winterfell to claim it as his own. She and Jaime had passed the dead carcasses of horses and men; all were frozen or had been picked at by carrion crows. Some had the symbol of a fiery heart surrounded by flames with a stag in the center. Their footsteps had been covered by the recent snow, but Brienne was certain that Stannis was at – or in any case near – Winterfell and would listen to her pleas to place the last trueborn heir to Winterfell, Lady Sansa Stark as the Warden of the North and the Lady of Winterfell. And then Brienne's quest would be done and Sansa would be safe. Brienne didn't know what her future would be after she found the maiden of fourteen. Perhaps she would return home, or serve House Stark until it had regained its former glory. But now here she was riding with a presumed enemy, intent on rescuing a lost girl who could not even be there at Winterfell. Doubts rose in her mind then. What if Sansa Stark was dead? Or missing, like her willful sister, Arya? Brienne recalled what Lady Stoneheart had asked her to do. _She wanted me to kill Jamie. _The undead mother of Sansa Stark no longer cared for her elder daughter. She only wanted vengeance for those who had wronged her. _I can't kill him. Jamie saved me and trusts me. He came with me when I asked him. "He is not the boy she made him to be." _Brienne knew that most of the smallfolk still considered Jamie to be the Kingslayer, and so had she before he had saved her life. _"She says that you must choose. Take the sword and slay the Kingslayer, or be hanged for a betrayer. The sword or then noose, she says. Choose she says. _Choose_." He's different now, _Brienne thought. She glanced behind her and saw with satisfaction that he had was not far behind. She urged her mount forward towards Winterfell.

The next few days were difficult. Brienne's hands were now cold stiff, and her hands shook as she urged her mount forward – when she could. Food and water were nowhere to be seen, and Brienne often licked her lips until they bled. Dried blood now coated her face, and she saw that Jamie was in no better condition. His formerly combed beard was now mangled again and was now had chunks of ice embedded in the golden hair, and he was painfully thin. Brienne tried to focus her energy on finding Winterfell, but more often than not their only sights were blinding snow. Suddenly on the second day, Brienne began to realize why men of Stannis had cut the horses into pieces. From a starving peasants' eye, the horse was full of delicious meat and fat. Brienne could understand why the men had killed and butchered their own horses. If the meat was not rotting and frozen, Brienne would eat the entire horse herself. On the third day, Jamie's horse faltered and wouldn't stand. Brienne had jumped off her horse and came to a conclusion that Jamie was in a similar condition. He was barely conscious, and she had to put him on her broad back and whispered, "Hold on, Jamie." He seemed to not have heard. Despite his weight, Brienne moved easier. Although half of her body was hindered by snow, she found it easier to move on her two legs. Her mount called for her, but Brienne didn't look back. _I have to find her, _she thought as she trudged through the cold snow blanket. _I have to find Lady Sansa Stark._

Eventually her body numbed and her hair was wet from the snow. Jamie's body had become heavy, and the sword, Oathkeeper, as slowed her pace. Eventually she came to see a castle in the distance. Parts of the castle were rubble, Brienne could see as she stumbled closer. Parts of it were also burned black, and were fallen stones crossed her path as she walked closer and closer to the former magnificent castle that had been burned and sacked by Ramsay Bolton. Brienne was exhausted, her sweat freezing when it came to her skin, and stumbled to the doors that opened to Winterfell. A warrior in plain mail stood before the entrance, with a stag surrounded by a flaming heart as his sigil across his mail plate. "Who are you?" Although he tried to be authoritive, his voice failed him once he saw Brienne almost leaning toward him and carrying a limp body on her shoulders.

"I'm here to see Stannis," she gulped, hoping that her chattering teeth wouldn't make it hard to understand. "I'm here to find Lady Sansa Stark, the Warden of the North and the Lady of Winterfell." She felt faint and saw stars above her head. To the warrior's credit, he managed to catch her when she fainted in his arms.


	11. Sandor V

_Sandor V_

The little bird was shaking. He could see her tremors from afar, and could see that the boy was shaking with her. Sandor had felt that something was wrong when he had heard faint footsteps echoing on the Kingsroard. Surprisingly the three of them hadn't encountered anyone. He hadn't trusted himself to speak as the _cold _went through him. The cold went through his bones and to his heart. He heard the little bird stiffen beside him. Stranger had lost control, rolling his eyes and stamping his hooves. Sandor had tried to calm him down as the band drew closer. He saw their familiar figures and knew exactly who they were, but had been nonchalant to focus on the stranger of the group. Sandor couldn't see the woman's face, but could feel the coldness and hatred rising from her. Was she the one responsible for all those deaths across from them? During his time in the Quiet Isle, some of the bodies he had buried were taken from post-hangings. But this had happened in the riverlands. This was in the South. The little bird had voiced the same, and Sandor's felt sickened as the lemon-cloaked man answered. "Are you not grateful, Lady Stark? We eliminated your enemies for you. The ones who murdered your family." He leered even closer to her, and Sandor's body was threatening to burst with rage as he focused more intently on her breasts. Then the cold one – the lone woman – removed her cowl.

_So this is the new fucking bloody brotherhood. _Sandor's memories faded as the little bird continued to moan. He glared at the undead woman who was known as Catelyn Tully; now she was known as the Hangwoman. Remembering the former leader of the Brotherhood without Banner's words, Sandor continued his thought. _I have more _honor _than these buggers shit. _He stared at the undead's face. She had been Sansa's mother once, and he had overheard Sansa compliment her mother's beauty to Cersei Lannister during her time in King's Landing. _"Your stunning beauty rivals no one, Your Grace…except for perhaps my lady mother." _Now Catelyn Tully was anything but beautiful. Her once flaming hair was ghost white and brittle. Her face was covered eerily similar to Sandor's own, and her eyes were dead. There was a time when Sandor would do anything to make his sister, Anor, alive again even if it meant that she would be undead. Now seeing the little bird tremble and collapsed on her knees, he thought, _What is dead should remain dead._ He jumped off his horse and landed on the ground, hefting his sword in front of him. _"She says she wants to know why you're here with a Lannister servant. You were the perfect daughter, unlike Arya." _He stood in front of the little bird and the boy, obscuring their view from Lady Stoneheart.

"We didn't know you were coming," Lemoncloak sneered at the visibly shaking Sansa. "This is perfect. We can hang the lion's wife and the craven Lannister dog." Sandor didn't move, and stared into Lady Stoneheart's eyes. Either her dead eyes were deprived of emotion or she didn't care if her daughter died. The little bird looked up at the sound of those words, and her face was pale as the snow her knees were sunk in. Robert still gripped the little bird's hand and held his small hand on her shoulder even as she trembled. "Since the boy is obviously the dog's loyal puppy, we'll kill him too." Lemoncloak looked into Robert's brown eyes and Sandor saw the boy trying to not show his desperate fear. His fist was clenched and his lips trembled as he held onto the last shred of strength he had_. "There is only one time to brave, Robert."_ Sandor remembered telling him that. Now the time had apparently come.

"You will not touch them," he snarled. Sandor raised his sword. He saw Lemonclaok raise his eyes in surprise from his protectiveness. When he had last met him, Sandor hadn't given a shit about protecting anyone. _Times have changed, _he thought. "I will fucking rape you and kill you before any of you touch her." He saw Lemonclaok sheathe his sword from his scabbard and raised it. The helm – the Hound's helm – was put down by his side. He nodded to Lady Stoneheart. Then the brown-haired man charged at him. "Hide the little bird," Sandor whispered to Robert as Lemoncloak gathered speed. "Protect her from these enemies and defend her." At the corner of his eye Sandor saw Robert move Sansa quickly out of the fray and led her to the forest where the multiple Lannisters, Freys, and Boltons were hung. The warriors' steel clashed. Sandor ducked another blow from Lemoncloak and their swords clashed again. Their speed grew as the swordfight lengthened in time, and Sandor aimed his sword point at Lemoncloak's chest, but a short knife blocked the blow. Sandor growled deep in his throat, and evaded a cut from the knife, and jumped a few feet away. He breathed hard as he surveyed the scene around him. None of the other Brotherhood without Banners had untied against him. It had taken only a couple battles for a younger Sandor to realize that only speed and high numbers could defeat a strong and huge warrior. Even then, remembering his brother's brutal strength, it sometimes wasn't enough. Another thought occurred in his mind. Both he and Sansa were both wanted for ghastly crimes: desertion and kingslaying. If the Brotherhood without Banners were determined to kill them, why not get the gold Cersei had promised for their heads and have their heads on spikes? Sandor forced his mind out of such thoughts, and raised his sword in front of him, preparing himself for an attack.

"You must be wondering why we would kill you here when there was gold waiting for us in King's Landing instead." Lemoncloak continued to speak without waiting for an answer. "The Lannisters have fallen from power, Clegane. Cersei Lannister lost her battle with her champion and is currently locked in a dungeon. Magaery now rules King's Landing for now, but not for very long. The Dragon Queen has won her war in the Free Cities, and comes to take her rightful kingdom. Her name is Daenerys Targaryen." His eyes met Sandor's. "You've heard the name before, correct?"

Sandor's burned side of his face twitched, but wouldn't give Lemoncloak the satisfaction for answering him. He did remember that name before. _Targaryen._ His sister had told him as a child the story of Aegon the Conquer, and how he came to Westeros on dragons. It was the Targaryens who had caused Robert's Rebellion and in consequence, the birth of the Hound. Sandor still remembered when the Kingslayer had told him of how Anor had sobbed when she realized he had killed multiple men twice his age during the sack of King's Landing. _"He killed for me." _

Lemoncloak ignored Sandor's lack of response. "They say that she rides on dragons with an army with eunuch men. She does not accept gold, they say. Only…fire and blood." He raised his sword, and even from a distance Sandor could see the dangerous passion in his eyes. "I don't give a fuck who rules the Seven Kingdoms. All I know is that someone has to answer the Hangwoman's call for justice, and that is us, the Brotherhood without Banners." Lemoncloak held the knife in his other hand, and ran towards Sandor. The dark warrior managed to avoid the deadly blade by bending his long body to the ground, but at the last moment his enemy slashed the knife towards his eye. Sandor's right cheek only managed to get nicked when he blocked the knife's aim with his hand. The knife flew into the air and landed on the ground nearby. Even as blood slowly trickled down his face Sandor straightened his body, stood, and deflected Lemoncloak's next attack with his sword. He brushed the blood out of his eyes and parried his blows with his enemy until he found an opening.

Lemoncloak wasn't wearing amour. The softest place to wound the body was the stomach, and Sandor summoned all his strength in his sword arm and aimed at Lemonclaok's stomach. The sword eased in, smooth as silk, as the steel became red with blood. Lemoncloak reeled, weakening more and more as the blood flow increased. Sandor had stabbed his sword beyond the soft insides, and an intoxicating odor wafted in his nose. He jerked the sword sideways, impatient for the light to go out of Lemoncloak's eyes and didn't feel the pain that seared his chest as Lemonclaok's sword broke his skin on his chest. The sword collapsed on the ground and Sandor crouched down to his enemy and watched the light go out of his eyes. The lemon-cloaked man shuddered and died.

Blood oozed from his wound quickly, but Sandor paid no attention. He raised his sword again to see if anyone would challenge him, but no one did. Then he heard a scream. _The little bird! _Sandor realized too late that Lady Stoneheart was missing from the Brotherhood. Hardly daring to breathe, he watched as Lady Stoneheart dragged out daughter out of the forest with her white cold hands around her neck. Sansa Stark's blue eyes were wide with fear, and she didn't even flinch as she looked at Sandor, pleading for him to save her. She had never looked so desperate before, not even in King's Landing. Sandor started to charge at Lady Stoneheart to save Sansa, but the undead pulled out a long blade against Sansa's pale throat and he stopped. Lady Stoneheart started to speak, her speech gargled and hard to Sandor's ears. One of the members of the Brotherhood had to translate for her. "She says that if you do not comply with hanging, she will kill her."

"You're going to kill her anyway," Sandor rasped. He found it extremely hard to speak with Sansa's life being threatened in front of him. His heart almost seemed to stop. "How…is that death any different from my own?"

"She says that you must suffer the same pain she had to suffer. To witness a loved one's death, Hound, if you do not comply." Sandor realized then that he had a choice to make. He could suffer his own painful death or watch Sansa suffer her own. _"But we have a choice. Only this moment matters, Sansa. Right here and right now. We can contemplate our past actions and decide to make __the right __choices even though we're afraid."_ He couldn't watch another loved one die. The little bird's death would be more painful or painful as his sister's. _Anor…_ Sandor thought. Could he survive that experience again? The agony that followed him after Anor's death still haunted him. He had promised himself that he would not fail to protect Sansa Stark even if it meant his death. _I will die for you, my little bird,_ he thought.

"Sandor…" He looked up to find the little bird looking at him through her tear-streaked gaze. He had seen many emotions in her eyes during the years he had known her. He had seen fear, sadness, happiness, scorn, and despair. This was the first time he had seen love. Love for _him. _"No…don't…don't die for me. Please…" His little bird whimpered and her lips trembled with vain self-control as her undead mother still held a knife to her throat. "Please don't leave me…I…" Suddenly her eyes grew large and looked away from Sandor and screamed.

"_Robert…no!"_

Sandor saw Robert Arryn running toward Lady Stoneheart with Lemonclaok's knife in his hand.


	12. Robert I

_Robert I_

Robert Arryn picked up the knife in his hand. It had fallen onto the ground and was now twirling in his hand. He hadn't held a knife or any weapon before. He and his master had only practiced with sticks, but this was the first time that _he _had held in his hand. It felt surprisingly good. The handle almost felt one with his hand, and before where Robert would have dropped the knife and slice his hand and cried, the eight year old boy held the knife firmly in his hand. His mother had been against weapons of any kind, and had been adamant that he of all of people, the heir to the Eryie and the Vale, should use one. _"The Eryie is impermeable, sweetrobin. You have thousands of knights at your command? Why should my lovely, brave boy learn the ways of violence?" _But Robert had seen how his master defeated two enemies with his sword to protect him and his cousin, Sansa. He knew that his master was strong, fierce, and almost graceful when he fought. Robert wanted to be like him. He wanted protect. Maybe then his mother wouldn't have been murdered by that singer if he had known the art of swordsmanship. Ever since that day, Robert had blamed himself for his mother's death. She was always by his side and always with him. Then she was gone. His mental and emotional instability during the period after Lysa Arryn's death was a blur. Sansa had told him many times that he had multiple shaking fits and refused any comforts, including having his hair cut. Robert had a vague memory of his unkempt hair flowing down his neck, but since his master had cut it, he had enjoyed how he heard the wind in his ears and feeling the limited sunlight in his hair. _I'll never leave my hair long again, _he had thought on way to King's Landing. He had been born in King's Landing when his lord father had been Hand of the King, his namesake, but Robert had been whisked away to the Eryie before memories could bloom. For some reason he, his master, and Sansa were going there. His master wouldn't tell him why, and Robert was about to inquire about their destination again when Sansa spotted the bodies hanging from the trees.

Robert tried to tear away his eyes but couldn't. In a former life, he would have wept and tried to find his mother's breasts, but this winter had hardened him. Some of the bodies were of boys his own age, with their eyes wide open with terror and with their faces black as stormy clouds. "The Lannisters and the Freys…" Sansa had whispered. Robert remembered when the small man came to the Eryie for a trial against his crimes. _"I want to see him fly!" _He had been six years old then, but remembered the situation well. The small man had been a Lannister, his mother said. The Lannisters murdered his lord father, who Robert couldn't even remember. His mother hadn't mentioned him very much, and only said that he was old. He wondered where the small man was now and if he was alive. Was the small man dead, like his mother? Robert continued to stare at the hanging bodies, and suppressed as urge to look away. He saw women and children among the hung, and could see that Sansa was horrified. Inwardly, he shuddered. Who could murder this many people?

All his life, Robert had been protected with someone to hold his hand. When the cold white woman had appeared, he had to hold Sansa's hand to support her. _"Mother…" _she hoarsely whispered. Robert had swallowed and looked at the cold white woman. Her hair was white and half of it was gone. Her face was covered in red scratches, and a horrible wound crossed her throat. And her eyes…her eyes were dead. _This is Sansa's mother? _Robert's master had stepped off his horse Stranger then. He held out his sword and told Robert to protect Sansa and hide in the forest. Robert hadn't flinched when he knew it meant going to where the hung bodies were. Some were writhing with maggots and smelled horridly of decay. Although he couldn't see his master's scarred face or grey eyes, Robert knew he meant to fight the lemon-cloaked man with the sword. Ushering Sansa forward, Robert had led Sansa into the forest without looking back. Without thinking, he had picked up the fallen knife that had escaped from the lemon-cloaked man's hand. He had held it in his hand and cautiously twirled it in his hand. The knife's handle almost felt one with his body, and the steel sparkled even against the snow. He was so focused on the knife that by the time he had heard Sansa scream, the silent woman – Lady Stoneheart, she was called – held a knife to her throat.

Robert had stood frozen then as his master had to make a choice to hang or Sansa's throat to be cut. Suddenly a memory resurfaced. He had asked his master if he loved Sansa. _"Yes."_ His master's face had been almost serene when he said yes to Robert's question, and now Robert was certain that Sansa loved him too. He had heard her plead with his master to not die for him, to not let her see his death. That was when Robert had run. That was when Sansa had called his name and his master had turned. That was when he had killed an undead. Robert had held the knife in his hand, pointing the handle forward. _"There is only one time to be brave, Robert,"_ Sansa had told him once after soothing his welts and bleeding knuckles with cold water and clean cloth. _"My father, Lord Eddard Stark, once told my brothers that the only time to be brave was when you were afraid."_ Robert hadn't understood then, but he understood better now. His master was right that day he had killed the mountain man; Robert had not been brave, but maybe today he was. His sudden movement had startled Lady Stoneheart, and she abruptly released her hold on her daughter. Robert saw his master lift Sansa up from the ground and hold her in his arms as he evaded attacks from the other warriors. Robert heard grunts and curses but heard no steel. He did feel afraid, but that didn't make him stop moving toward Lady Stoneheart. With strength he didn't know that he possessed, Robert jumped into the air and aimed the pointy end at Lady Stoneheart's throat. The undead woman evaded the blow and pulled out her own knife.

She slashed to wound Robert, but the boy had gotten out of the knife's way in time. He was able to avoid blows that she clumsily made. The endless hours sparring in the cold with his master and the welts and the blood suddenly seemed effortless. Robert was able to evade Lady Stoneheart's knife's vital point, but had been cut on the cheek. Then on the arm and leg. His speed was slowing down, and even someone as inexperienced as Lady Stoneheart would hurt him seriously soon. Using the last of his speed, Robert managed to dodge the knife's pointy end and climbed into a tree and like an animal he was able to walk across the tree branches. _"You were not brave, boy."_ His master's voice echoed in his ears as he jumped from the tree, aiming his knife at Lady Stoneheart's heart. _I can be, Master. I _will _be. _He blocked Lady Stoneheart's blade with his own and stabbed her in the heart. Everything seemed to still that very moment. The undead woman's eyes didn't flicker as the knife pulsed through her skin. Blood didn't flow. Robert's pounding heart echoed in his ears, and everything seemed to stop once Lady Stoneheart closed her eyes.

"Is she dead?" Robert turned to find his master walking towards him. Blood coated hiss torn woolspun shirt and dribbled on his breaches. His dark hair was dank with seat, and he breathed heavily with sword in hand as he continued to stare at the body. Sansa drifted behind him. Her auburn hair was like fire against the snow, and she seemed paler. Her breath drifted in the air. She tried to smile at Robert, but her smile faltered as she stared at the body of her mother. Or what had been. Robert shook his head. He didn't know if Lady Stoneheart would rise again or not, and pulled the knife out gingerly. No blood coated it, unlike his master's sword. All of them waited. Lady Stoneheart did not rise.

"We have to burn her," his master immediately said. His grey eyes shifted to Robert's brown eyes and Sansa's blue. "If someone comes and finds her corpse, who knows what they'll do to her." Sansa looked up sharply at his words. Her eyes filled with tears.

"What would they do with my mother? Why?" Her voice choked with sorrow and continued to stare at her mother's body. Robert's master put his arm around her and forced her to look at him. "Your mother was already dead when the fuckers did this to her, little bird. They brought her back to life when she shouldn't have been. This Lady Stoneheart killed many people, even those who deserved what they got. The will for revenge for the survivors is still strong," he whispered, and Robert was surprised by the empathy his master expressed on his face. "I don't what the fuck the Lannisters will do to her body, but it will be ghastly, little bird. Do you understand?" Sansa nodded, but still wasn't done because she started to speak even as she trembled.

"But the fire…you…Sandor….you _hate _fire." Robert was surprised by how concerned she was for his master. She cupped the burned side face in her hand and started crying. Her lips trembled as she fought to control the emotions inside her. "You…_fear _it. Why would you do this for me?"

"Because I can."

* * *

It wasn't until late at night that Robert, his master, and Sansa were able to burn the bodies of Lady Stoneheart and the man known as Lemoncloak. The remaining members of the Brotherhood had run away as soon as Lady Stoneheart had fallen. Sansa had set the flames and now bound Robert's wounds and his master's. Together beside Stranger they stared into the flames. Sansa's eyes were red and sad; her tears had ceased when the fire had caught her mother's hair. Robert stared, seeing the flame's reflecting back at him. He had not seen fire before, not even when he was a very small child in the Eryie. His master was silent, his eyes dark and empty. Robert wondered what was going on in his mind and why he was he was afraid of fire. He glanced at the burns that had scarred him. Did fire cause those burns? His master's empty eyes widened and Robert saw the Sansa's hand grasped his own. Her small pale hand caressed his battle-scarred and tan one.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. His master continued to stare into the fire and didn't answer. Sansa began to sing in her sweet soprano, stopping Robert's heart. _Mother,_ he thought.

_"Shards of home are too far away for you to grasp_

_I see the pain and fear in your eyes that plague you_

_Every waking day you wonder if there's a place you belong_

_A place to live and love and stay not die and despair_

_Shadows of the past haunt your sleep, torment you_

_And make you wonder if all you love is dead_

_For everything in life must wither, die, and bleed."_

Robert had never heard that song before. Neither had his master, for they both listened to every word that Sansa sang in her beautiful angelic voice. Robert was reminded of his mother then, singing to him as a babe, and a lost expression fixed on his face. His master had a similar expression. He saw Sansa squeeze his master's hand and smile at him. "Thank you, Robert. For saving us," she whispered to the boy. He nodded, not yet realizing that he was drawing blood from holding the knife deathly tight in his hand. Then he saw Sansa embrace his master's body. Her hands encircled around his waist, and his master ran his finders threw her hair. It was then that Robert, holding his knife in his hand in the dead cold night, did he realize that both of them were shedding slow tears.


	13. Sansa V

_Sansa V_

Sansa Stark never thought she would be happy to be in King's Landing again. This was the place where her father had been murdered for treason, where she was informed of her brother's and mother's deaths not even a year ago, and where she was forcibly married to Tyrion Lannister at age of twelve. Now with Sandor Clegane and Robert Arryn by her side, Sansa felt safe in the city where she thought she would never return. The great bells of King's Landing were ringing, which meant that the king was dead. Sansa was sad, for she had liked the plump and gentle child, but a peasant told her that it wasn't the king who was dead; it was his mother, the queen. The peasant had laughed, ignoring the shocked face that Sansa and Robert had on their faces, and the hulking figure above them with a sword in his hand. The peasant spat on the ground, smiling, as he breathlessly continued. He continued telling them of how Cersei Lannister had been strangled about her younger brother, during her imprisonment. Tyrion Lannister had many adventures that were now being told to children before he had a hand in Daenerys Targaryen's war in the Slaver's Bay in Meeren. It was because of him that their new queen won her war. She was supposed to be coming very soon to conquer Westeros, he said very excitedly. Tyrion was _only _supposed to escort the royal children out of harm's way – their new queen was rumored to be merciful and compassionate – and go back to Daenerys, but the Imp had visited Cersei to give her children a last goodbye. Something had happened, but no one was certain what exactly had happened in the cell. Cersei Lannister had killed her own daughter to spare her the disgrace her family and fallen to, and Magaery Tyrell had paid with her life when she had stopped Cersei from killing her son. Then Tyrion had strangled his own sister until her face was black. There were other versions as well, but this was the one that Sansa heard the most. She had recalled of how Sandor's left side of his face had twitched at the mention that the Imp was still alive, albeit missing, and how Robert's fingered his knife nervously back and forth at the mention of the heavy bloodshed.

Since killing Lady Stoneheart, the boy had been morose and silent during their last days on the Kingsroad. He slept for worse than she and at night he stared at the moon and fingered his knife. Sansa had come to believe that Robert fingered his knife when he was afraid or hurt. Sansa wondered if he was both right now, as she was. Her mother had come back from the dead, but instead of being the kind and honest woman Sansa had loved and adored, Lady Stoneheart had been born. Sansa could vividly remember the bodies hung from the trees, children and woman among them. Lady Stoneheart had threatened to hang _her _for being a wife to a Lannister. The Brotherhood with Banners had threatened Sandor's life for hers – and Sandor had chosen his. _"Sandor…__No…don't…don't die for me. Please…please don't leave me…I…"_ She remembered of how his face had widened with shock from the tender emotion from her voice. Her eyes had been streaked with tears, and she couldn't stop them from flowing. _I wanted to tell him that I loved him, _she thought. Sandor's face was obscured by his cowl and couldn't see his expression. What was he thinking? He held Stranger's reins tightly as he did when he was angry, and kept his left hand on his sword hilt. Sansa had her voice obscured as well; despite of what their enemy and the peasant had said about the new queen, they couldn't trust his words. Even Sansa knew that, although she had to tell Robert this. _His hands might be soiled with blood now, but he is still a child,_ Sansa thought sadly as she looked back to find Robert walking behind them with his knife in his hand. _A naïve child. He still smells of summer._

The three had also heard of Tommen's fate, the former king of the Seven Kingdoms. The child of nine had become mad since witnessing the deaths of his mother, sister, and wife. It was said that the child locked himself in his former chambers and didn't speak to anyone and stared at nothing by hours on end. Chambermaids fearfully reported that the boy had hallucinations of talking to his mother and sister. When they had tried to make him stop, Tommen had screamed and started biting and scratching them. Now the boy was in solitary confinement, and had refused food and food since the day before. Sansa's heart had swelled in pity for the poor boy. She remembered that Tommen had witnessed his brother's death as well. Joffrey had been poisoned and his face had been swollen and black as Cersei's was reported to be. Her head was reported to be on a spike. Sandor hadn't said a word when Sansa had suggested that they pray for Tommen in the godswood.

Robert had wanted to see his mother's enemy's head on a spike, and Sandor had surprisingly granted the boy permission to go. "Do you remember where the heart is?" he had rasped to Robert before he went, and the boy nodded. Sansa still remembered how the boy's hands had been still as he ran to see Cersei's decapitated head, and shuddered involuntarily. She still remembered when Joffrey had forced her to see her father's head on a spike and when Sandor had wiped her bloodied lip with his handkerchief. _He loved me even then, _Sansa realized as Sandor stared at the godswood before them. Elm, alder, and black cottonwood trees surrounded the godswood that had been her refuge during her imprisonment during King's Landing. She hadn't been able to conceal her gasp when she saw that the godswood wasn't covered in snow – it was still covered in lush grass and soil. The heart tree remained the same. It was still covered in thick smokeberry vines and the heart tree still had its face. As Sansa crouched down on her knees, she had heard Sandor take an intake of breath as he stared at the heart tree. Sansa suppressed a smile. Even her younger siblings, Arya and Bran, had reacted the same way when their father had showed him their godswood. She started praying to her father's god in a shushed tone, hoping that they would hear her.

"Old ones, please spare the boy Tommen from worse fate. He is a kind boy and was manipulated by people who deserved their fate. May the new queen Daenerys Targaryen make peace in this new century, children who will not know war or suffering, and maidens who will not weep for their lost love." At those words, Sansa's heart skipped a beat and she trembled. "Please grant me wisdom and strength what I am about to do," she breathed to the heart tree. Only the wind could hear her now. "I…actually want this." Sansa stood with her heartbeat trembling in her ears. She walked over to Sandor, who was leaning his body on one of the elm trees. Stranger had been tied to a tree not far behind and was strangely calm. There was a faraway look in his owners' gaze. "Do you believe in the old gods or the new?" she asked him, hoping that he wouldn't notice how her breathing was slightly rapid. Sandor looked down at her into her eyes, and she felt his grey eyes on her face. _His eyes are the most beautiful part about him. _

"I don't believe in any gods, little bird," she heard Sandor say. She lost herself in his eyes. "My sister believed in the new gods, but they didn't come to her as she died. Nor did they come to your father," he added. Sansa continued to stare at his face even as he mentioned her father, unlike all the times she glanced away from him. She leaned in to touch his face, and traced his scar with her fingers. Sandor didn't say a word but tried to pray away his eyes from her. He knew what she meant to do. "You've always loved me, Sandor," Sansa whispered. He didn't yet turn towards her from the sound of his name. "I should have realized that when you wanted me to go with you from King's Landing. You _killed _for me, and almost sacrificed your life for mine." Her lips trembled as tears spilled down her cheeks. "When that happened, I realized that I loved you." Now he looked at her. She stopped fingering his scar and stared into his eyes. "I love you," she repeated, and kissed him on the lips.

Her lips met his own and warmth spread through her when they met. The kiss was like velvet and melted everything inside her. She felt his hand cup her cheek as their kisses deepened. His lips were tender and welcoming to her touch, and he tenderly bit a side of her lip as she had done when they first had kissed along the Kingsroad. Sansa moaned and felt her breath come into gasps as Sandor kissed her tears away. His hand left her face and ran through her hair. _His hands are warm, _Sansa thought as he fingered her neck gently. He leaned forward until their bodies were completely touching. She felt his hardness of his manhood against her thighs. Sansa wasn't afraid. She had been taught that lovemaking was only done to please the lady's lord husband. She knew that whores made love in a variety of different ways all for a coin, but Sansa thought she never would enjoy it. Now as Sandor kissed the nape of her neck and caressed the tips of her breasts, Sansa felt tingling in her groin.

She watched him as he removed his tunic and couldn't help but stare at his manhood which was sticking out against the fabric against his breeches. _I can help him, _Sansa thought, slightly blushing from her thoughts as Sandor caressed her breasts she stroked his naked chest. She continued to kiss his muscles, which slightly bulged at her touch and pecked slightly at his wound that he had gotten from the battle with Lady Stoneheart. "Undress me," she whispered. She felt his fingers fumble with her laces and blushed when she realized that he must be nervous as she was. Soon she was naked as her nameday, and Sandor stroked her breasts as if they were the most prized item he had seen, and she willed him to kiss her there. His lips had a strange effect on her breasts; they pulsed at his touch, the nipples plucked as he stroked them. She started to wonder if there were parts of him that had the same effect. Without daring to breathe she crouched down and squeezed his manhood. It pulsed in her hand, and Sandor gave a quick gasp. Sansa immediately looked up, worried that she had hurt him. "Did I hurt you?"

"Don't stop," he growled. She saw that his face was sharp with desire. She squeezed again, and he arched his back with a groan. She felt his hands move to her stomach and stay there. Sansa pulled down his breeches and stared wide-eyed at his hard manhood. Hesitantly, she touched the shaft. The skin felt hard as the tree beside them and was wet with some kind of moisture, and as she continued to stroke it, she saw it erect. She kissed the tip of Sandor's manhood, hearing him moan. Sansa lied on the ground, feeling the grass tickle her body and her most feminine part. She was already wet. Sandor lied himself gently over her, and she felt his manhood hard against her stomach. She felt his fingers gently pry her open, and gasped with pleasure as his fingers explored the moisture inside. His other hand caressed the auburn hair on her mound. _I've never wanted a man so much,_ Sansa though t as he eased himself inside her. Although large, he tried to make their _lovemaking _as painless as possible. She felt her maidenhead break, and she cried out as he rhythmically pushed his manhood inside and out. Seeing his face above hers, his grey eyes swimming in lust and love, she realized that she felt the same as him. His seed came inside her, and they both never felt more alive. Snow started to lightly fall on their united bodies, but neither of them noticed, as both of the wanted more of each other.

"I had never done that before," Sandor whispered when it was over. He held his hand against her stomach, stroking gently. Sansa felt his eyes carve her face.

"Nor have I," she whispered. Gently, she eased herself so she could look at him. She held his face in her hands. "My maidenhead is gone, but I'm glad it went to you. I won't be soiled by Joffrey or the Imp, ever." She kissed him tenderly on the lips. "I like your face," she suddenly said. Sandor's eyes became wide and disbelief clouded his eyes.

"You like my face?" he asked breathlessly. Sansa nodded, and ran her fingers through his hair. "I love every part of you, Sandor." She kissed him deeply full on the mouth, and it appeared they were not completely done after all.


	14. Brienne III

_Brienne III_

Brienne had recovered from her near-frostbite the day Daenerys Targaryen invaded Westeros along with Jamie. She had heard the news from the knights in the in the castle as she limped by to greet Stannis Baratheon, the only king left fighting for the Iron Throne. As she neared the great oak doors that led to The Great Hall, Brienne heard the two knights whispering excitedly that the Dragon Queen, Daenerys Targaryen had invaded King's Landing with no resistance. Her army – the knights snickered – was eunuch men and had the beautiful silver-haired queen rode on a black dragon. One of the knights openly suggested they leave Stannis and fight for her – the generous queen would certainly need them. It was then that they realized that Brienne had listened to their entire conversation. Their alarmed and frightened eyes still haunted her as she bowed before the king of Westeros. Stannis was a big man as his brothers were, and had dark blue eyes. Balding hair crowned his head, and had a close-clipped beard the same shade as his hair. At the corner of her eye, she was Jamie also bowing to Stannis, and the king grinded his teeth. His eyes narrowed at both the golden-haired man and the huge woman who had been a knight. Brienne felt his stare, and withdrew his eyes from him. Stannis was not at all like his brother Renly. Stannis was older and solemn. He did not approve of a woman taking a knight's vows or was courteous to anyone he came across, unlike Renly, who had smiled at everyone and respected Brienne's decision. There was no love between the two brothers, Brienne knew. However, she had hoped that a part of Renly's kindness would live on in his brother. She was wrong.

Stannis stared down at both of them with a scowl and said, "It seems that both of you have lived. A woman's battle is in childbed, not in war, and a former member of the Kingsgaurd should not kill a king he was sworn to protect." He stared down at Jamie. "I hear you deserted the army to find the eldest Stark girl."

"Yes, Your Grace." Jamie's voice was strangely muffled.

"She is no longer a Stark, Kingslayer." To his credit, Jamie didn't flinch at his morbid nickname. "She was married to your brother, the Imp, in case you've forgotten. She is a Lannister, who is hopefully dead now."

Brienne was startled by his harsh words. Sansa Stark was forcibly married to Tyrion Lannister, and had been imprisoned against her will by her father's murders. The maid of fourteen had fled King's Landing when she was accused of murdering Joffrey Baratheon. Brienne looked into his eyes and saw that Stannis' eyes were cold as ice.

"Your Grace, Lady Sansa was forcibly married to her father's and brother's enemies and has not yet produced an heir –" she began.

"She is still a Lannister and a kingslayer, woman." Stannis did not bother to call her by her name. "She cannot inherit Winterfell. Her lord husband was her accomplice in the murder of King Joffrey, and they must be hunted down and executed as soon as they are found." Brienne was speechless. _He is cold and stern as they say,_ she thought numbly. Lady Sansa was still a child. He continued, oblivious to her distress. "I am only saying this for honor and duty. Lady Lannister had murdered her king, and she must be punished likewise."

"You say that you are the true king, but how can she punished for murdering a usurper?" Jamie had spoken, filling in Brienne's silence. He looked up at Stannis now, and didn't waver his gaze as Stannis grinded his teeth, staring at him through ice blue windows.

"A king is still a king until he dies. Which is why you must be punished as well, Kingslayer. It is one of the greatest crimes of Westeros to murder a king. _Any king. _My men our not so foolish and desperate to murder me as I sleep. I know that my men do not love me. Even as I look at you, I see the detest in your eyes." He sighed and seemed to look far away from them. "The Wall had almost fallen with Jon Snow's assassination attempt, and the Lord Commander is slowly healing. I have to Stark boy in my hands, Wintefell, the stronghold of the North, and the Wall, and yet people do not love me still."

Brienne's heart quickened. What did he mean by "the Stark boy?" Except for Lady Sansa, the Stark family had died. She remembered when Lady Catelyn Stark had gotten the word that her two youngest sons, Bran and Rickon, had been murdered by Theon Greyjoy. _Dark wings, dark words. _Lady Catelyn and her eldest son had been murdered in the Red Wedding…only to rise as Lady Stoneheart to avenge her son's death. _Robb Stark would have been a good king of Westeros, _Brienne thoughts sadly while looking at the false king above her.

"What do you mean by the Stark boy?" Brienne asked slowly. She was careful to conceal her emotions.

"Theon Greyjoy didn't manage to kill the two youngest Stark heirs. The bodies were decoys, hiding the truth that the boys were actually alive." Stannis gritted his teeth at the mention of Theon Greyjoy. "My hand was able to locate the youngest Stark in Skagos and bring him to Storm's End. I have no idea where the elder Stark boy is, but neither does his brother." Stannis frowned. "The boy is wild, my Hand told me by a raven. His hair is long, tangled, and matted, and will not speak to anyone. The only civil relationship he had was with his direwolf, who is now dead." Seeing Brienne's questioning stare, Stannis continued. "Storm's End was attacked and ambushed by Aegon Targaryen, the price who _did not _die during my brother's rebellion. He died valiantly in the battle and now King's Landing is supporting his aunt Daenerys Targaryen with his untimely death, the so-called dragon rider. Many of my men were slaughtered along with the silver-haired boy, and the Stark boy's direwolf died protecting his master." Stannis' frowned deepened. "He almost tore off the rest of my Hand's fingers when Davos cut his hair. Now with his hair cut and free of tangles, the boy seemed to have calmed somewhat and is eager to come home. A fortnight has passed since Storm's End was sieged and overtaken. Davos and the boy a coming here for safety." He turned his attention from them and stared at the empty hall. "I sacrificed Greyjoy for his crimes along with his sister with fire," at that point he glared at Brienne, "and the Arya Stark fake as well. A woman should not leave her husband unless commanded to."

_What a cruel king, _Brienne thought to herself. _He is unbending, unforgiving, and ruthless. _

Minutes had passed before Jamie spoke. "What will you do now, Your Grace? Daenerys is now in Westeros intent on keeping the Iron Throne." Jamie spoke quietly now that Stannis had told them about Cersei Lannister's death by the Imp. _"The child of incest had died as well. Her younger brother is now reportedly insane."_ Like her, Brienne did not mourn Cersei Lannister or her children. Jamie seemed shaken and subdued.

"Fight the usurper until my last breath. I will march to King's Landing on the morrow. My hand will hold Winterfell until I return."

Brienne now saw her chance to complete her quest. "Your Grace, since you have no need of me, may I be allowed the honor to complete my quest?" Hardly daring to breathe, she waited for Stannis' answer.

"You may continue with your folly, woman. The knights tell me that the as you were abed, you were murmuring about the Hound and the Stark girl." Stannis gritted his teeth. "Your body has now healed, and you may leave to find her. The Kingslayer must stay here. He will be a valuable hostage." Brienne nodded and bowed to him before she started existing The Great Hall. However, as she left, she heard Stannis' voice again. "If you come here again with kingslayer on your back begging for mercy, I will kill you." Brienne fingered Oathkeeper in her hand. The sword had never felt so light, and she was not daunted by searching for Sansa Stark on her own again. She hoped that Jamie would live out the war that was brewing again._ Stark or Lannister or kingslayer, I must find her. _Brienne remembered Lady Catelyn Stark's kind face. _I have an oath to fulfill. _


	15. Sandor VI

_Sandor VI_

Sandor Clegane stood by Sansa Stark. His hand was by hers, but he did not touch her soft and small hand. He wanted to, but he couldn't. Something had happened to both of them after they had made love. He felt a sudden tenderness toward Sansa that he hadn't felt before. He didn't just want to protect her; he wanted to make her happy. Sandor wasn't certain how these feelings came to be. Something must have woken within him as his and Sansa's bodies united. He could remember her calling his name as thrusted himself inside her the second time they had made love. _"I like your face." _Sandor hadn't prepared himself for the rush of _love _he suddenly felt toward the auburn haired woman lying against him. He remembered of how her touches burned him, almost like fire, only this fire burned slowly and was warm. Sandor wasn't afraid of the fire she had given him.

His beloved sister, Anor, hadn't even uttered those words when she had been alive. He supposed that his protectiveness toward Sansa had been an echo of his love towards Anor. Then it had transformed into something else, something that he couldn't recall feeling towards Anor. Sandor wanted to hold Sansa hand as the new queen, Deanerys Targaryen, came into King's Landing with her army, but he remembered what she had told him after they were fully clothed in the godswood. _"No one must know about this."_ Her blue eyes were sad. _"About us. There are still people here who believe I am still legally married to the Imp, and they would gladly have our heads on a spike for adultery."_ He remembered how she had kissed him gently on his scarred cheek and her smile as he called her by little bird. _"You just took my maidenhead, Sandor."_ He could still remember the laughter in her eyes. _"You should call me by the name my lord father gave me, not the one you gave me." _And so she was known as Sansa to him now, and no longer the little bird who chirped false curtsies, believed in white knights and red roses, and was afraid of him. Sansa now loved him, characterized the softness in her gaze as she spoke to him, and how she looked at him as her protector, her beloved companion, and lover.

Sandor now drifted his gaze from Sansa and looked toward the boy before them. Robert Arryn was eager to see the new queen and his brown hair faintly blew in the wind. His eyes no longer held fear but excitement, something Sandor hadn't seen in his eyes before. Robert had told Sandor and Sansa about seeing Cersei's head on a spike. Her skin was starting to peel and crows were pecking at her eyes. Her former lush golden hair was tangled and starting to fall in clumps by his feet. Instead of feel repulsed and fevered by fear, Robert had been exhilarated by the fact that his mother's enemy had suffered as she had suffered. Moments later the boy had asked him if that kind of thinking was wrong. _"It is not wrong to think that way. I didn't like her, your mother didn't like her, and Sansa lived in fear of her. Many people here are celebrating her ghastly end." _Now the boy appeared to be celebrating along with the Seven Kingdoms that they had a new queen. When Sandor had first met Robert Arryn, he had thought the boy as a weak and frightened child. The boy had not wanted to learn swordsmanship and had cried out of pain when blisters and calluses started to form and bleed. Now the boy was twice his size and was stronger and taller. A belt was around his waist to hold his knife, and Robert moved easily with the extra weight. He even accepted the name that people were slowly calling him. _Stoneslayer, _Sandor thought. _For killing Lady Stoneheart. Word travels fast in King's Landing. _Sansa didn't appear to be disturbed by Robert's alias. She appeared to be happy that he was strong; something that many people years passed didn't think Robert Arryn would become.

However, Robert was still a child of nine years. He pointed excitedly to the human figure riding towards them. Sandor remembered when he first saw the new king of Westeros. Robert Baratheon had been strong as bull, tall, and rode a magnificent black horse as he toured King's Landing. Sandor had been twelve years old at the time, and wasn't very interested in the warrior who had won a kingdom. He had hated the noise; the shouts, the screams, and the cheering to the new king. He hated the happiness that the people had. Sandor had only buried his sister recently, and his hands were still soiled with dirt from digging with his bare hands. Sandor's only wanted to go into the Lannister's service to forget and leave the past behind him. Now as he stood beside Sansa, he realized that he didn't want anything; what he wanted was right with him. The new queen was beautiful, he had to admit. She rode on a magnificent black dragon that contrasted her silver-blond hair that waved in the wind. Her eyes were purple, and wore a modest wool-spun dress that lengthened to her knees, and was barefoot. She did not yet have a crown on her head, and yet people had accepted her as her queen. "Daenerys! Daenerys!" The smallfolk were throwing flowers at her feet, and she seemed to be smiling at them all.

"Behold Queen Daenerys Targaryen First of Her Name, Queen of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, _Khaleesi_ of the Great Grass Sea, the Stallion Who Mounts the World, Breaker of Shackles/Chains, Queen of Meereen, Princess of Dragonstone, and Protector of the Realm!" The roar was deafening, and for a moment Sandor felt Sansa's hand on his own. The new queen had begun her reign.

Sandor, Sansa, and Robert had waited in line in the Throne Room for Daenerys to hear their grievances. Sandor remembered that Sansa had wanted to come to King's Landing to clear the names from the soil that had coated them. She was not a kingslayer and he did not sack the Saltpans. She had counted on Magaery Tyrell to clear their names of blood, but the woman was dead. Her body was reportedly buried in Highgarden. Now they had to tell the truth to a fresh woman, a fresh queen. Robert started to finger his knife nervously again and Sansa became pale as the line grew thinner, but Sandor kept his emotions firmly under control. At last their time came hours later. The three companions bent down on their knees to Queen Daenerys Targaryen.

"Rise," she commanded. Sandor stood the tallest, and was about twice the queen's height. He could see that the queen actually seemed comfortable in the Iron Chair. Her hands were calmly still and her feet dangled. On her head was a crown, a rather small crown for a ruler, but it seemed to suit her – although she was hidden away all these years, Daenerys Targaryen still triumphed over the kingdoms that had almost annihilated House Targaryen. She was only a couple years older than Sansa, and yet she seemed years older. Her purple eyes were bright, and stared at Sandor and his two companions.

"You know my name, and I know yours. The Hound, formerly the sworn shield to Joffrey Baratheon and House Lannister and who fled the Battle of Blackwater. Lady Sansa Stark, the eldest daughter of the Usurper's Hand, and the unfortunate wife of kingslayer Tyrion Lannister. And Lord Robert Arryn, the sole heir to the Eyrie and the Vale in the North and the infamous killer known as Stoneslayer. You three have fled King's Landing for years. Now why do you return?" Her voice filled the hall before them, and her presence seemed to be even bigger. Sansa and Robert were lost for words, and Sandor was amazed by how much she knew about them all. He stood.

"Your Grace, we ask you to clear us from the crimes that have haunted us since the day we were accused with them. I was accused of having an involvement in the sack of the Saltpans, and the Hound was reported to have raped a girl of twelve before gouging at her breasts among many other people." Sandor's voice also filled in the hall, and he saw that Daenerys tilted her head curiously. "The imposter reportedly wore the Hound's helm of a snarling dog and joined the Brave Companions. That was not me, Your Grace. I was found dying beside the Trident and was adopted as a brother of the Quiet Isle. The Hound had died the day I was found by the Trident, and was reborn as Sandor Clegane." Now he met the queen's gaze, and saw that she was listening intently now. "I fought the imposter, the same day my apprentice killed the undead Lady Stoneheart, and I have his helm." Sandor reached in his habit and pulled out the snarling helm. Its teeth were coated in dried blood and the helm now appeared the color of black. The queen didn't say a word, but had a pensive glint in her eyes.

"What happened to the imposter?" she asked slowly.

"I killed him," Sandor said simply. Surprisingly, Daenerys nodded. Then she turned her attention to Sansa. Her purple eyes filled with an unknown emotion as she stared at the auburn haired woman, and eventually Sansa found her voice.

"Your Grace," Sansa's voice was quiet and hesitant compared to his own, and she did not stand. "I was about to have my thirteenth nameday when I was forcibly married to Tyrion Lannister. My father, Lord Eddard Stark, was murdered by the Lannisters as was our household servants who came to us to King's Landing. Soon after we were married, King Joffrey was celebrating his marriage when someone poisoned his drink and he _died._ I did not take part of that Your Grace, even though I feared him and hated him with every fiber in my body. I fled King's Landing only to believe that I was going home. Take my word as my honor as a Stark, Your Grace." Although Sansa did not look to see the queen's expression after she had finished with her confession, Sandor saw understanding in her eyes.

"Did he take your maidenhead?" There was seriousness in the queen's gaze.

"No, Your Grace. My…lord husband thought I was a mere child."

"What is it that you want, Lady Stark?"

"I want my and Sandor's names to be cleared of our accusations and my marriage to Tyrion Lannister to be annulled." Sansa stood, standing proudly beside Sandor, and he saw her smile as Daenerys nodded.

"Based on your accounts, I can say that you spoke the truth or you are very good liars. I believe that you did have a hand in the murder of Joffrey Baratheon. I do not know who the true murderers are; perhaps no one will, but Lady Stark will be released of this folly. I will make certain that the High Septon will annul your marriage on the morrow."

"Thank you, Your Grace." Sansa whispered. Her former pale face was now red with color, and her hands were now calmly at her sides. Daenerys nodded briefly to her before focusing her attention on the male who was standing before her.

"I heard you say that you were reborn as Sandor Clegane. That is your name, correct?" Sandor nodded. "I heard the stories of how the Hound was fiercely loyal to his masters and did not hesitate to kill their enemies. Now here before you are a young woman and a boy of nine years. Why would you protect them over your masters?"

"I wanted to protect Sansa Stark because I could, Your Grace. I protected her the best I could in King's Landing, and I offered her take her with me when I fled the capital." Sandor could feel Sansa's eyes on him. "She refused, and since that day I sought to find her again. And now I have her. I protected her and defended her, something that I could not accomplish with my own older sister. I protected the boy for the same reasons as well." Daenerys was silent for a moment. Then, she nodded and smiled at him. She murmured something under her breath, and she ordered Sandor to kneel.

"With your elder brother finally dead, Sandor Clegane, a part of me will be at peace. I had heard many times during my childhood of how your older brother raped and killed my brother's wife. After his eventual death, he was brought back as an undead. He was burned with flames as Cersei and the maester were decapitated. I thought that you would be similar to your brother, but it appears that I was mistaken. You lost honor for love in the past and now is no different. You brought pride to House Clegane in the process, protecting Lord Stark's eldest daughter and protecting the heir to one of most noble houses. You are a worthier man than Gregor Clegane." Sandor's heart stopped at her words. His sister had wanted him to become a better man than his brother and father; that was her last wish. And now Queen Daenerys Targaryen was proclaiming that he had brought pride and honor to House Clegane. Sandor was silent as Daenerys continued to speak. "Rise now, Lord Sandor Clegane. You have honored your words, death and honor. Wear them proudly."

"I will," Sandor heard himself say.

"What will you do now, Lady Stark?" It didn't matter now to him or her. Sansa and Sandor entwined their hands. Sandor felt Robert's smaller form at his side. For the first time since she had seen Queen Daenerys, Sansa smiled.

"I will go home to the North, Your Grace."


	16. Sansa VI

_Sansa VI_

Sansa was now back home again. She was in the North. She tugged her coat tighter, shivering. Sansa had forgotten how cold the North could be at times. Sandor Clegane and Robert Arryn were walking beside her. The snows were too deep to ride on Stranger, so Sandor had to lead him by his reins. It felt good to be home again, despite the cold, ice, and snow. Sansa smiled happily when snowflakes fell on her nose, and she heard Robert's laughter as snowflakes fell into Sandor's hair. The Southern man didn't seem to wither in the ice and snow; he continued to walk with the same vigor and focus. Sansa smiled at him. She wondered how she had been afraid of him years passed. He had become her savior, protector, friend, and lover. Sansa could now see beyond his scars and saw his bravery and tenderness. He had been honest to her when no one told her the truth. _He is what a true knight should be,_ she thought as Sandor led his horse through the snow. Robert trailed behind.

Her brief and cold marriage to Tyrion Lannister had ended a week ago. Queen Daenerys Targaryen had announced her annulment as she, Sandor, and Robert were about to leave for the North. For an unknown reason, the beautiful silver queen seemed to be happy for her by the smile on her face. Sansa had wanted to embrace her for all she did, but caught herself just in time. _A lady must always remember her courtesies. _She had bowed to the queen instead, her eyes suddenly blinded by tears. The queen had also told her that her brothers, long thought dead, were alive. Survivors of the battle of Storm's End reported that they had seen an auburn haired child with long hair guarded by a large black direwolf. The direwolf had died protecting the child during the siege, and the survivors remembered horridly how the child's blue eyes had become cold as ice as the five year old boy wailed and howled. _"His name is Rickon Stark reportedly, and is now at Winterfell for safety with Stannis' Hand, a former knight named Davos Seaworth." _The queen's sweet voice echoed in her ears. Sansa had trembled at her words, and she barely felt Sandor's arm around her shoulders. _"Your youngest brother is alive and well as Stannis marches to King's Landing to challenge my right to the crown. I have heard nothing about the heir Brandon Stark, or of your sister, Arya Stark, but I assure Lady Stark, your youngest brother is alive."_ Queen Daenerys spoken very softly to Sansa then. _"Spring will come. Reunite with your family, Lady Stark, and marry someone you love." _Her vague smile still haunted Sansa as she walked past the snow and the old trees of the North. _"Live now and go home."_

Queen Daenerys taught Sansa that love is a strong emotion. When she heard that Rickon was alive, Sansa had felt her heart break into tiny pieces. She had thought that her younger brother was dead, and now she had heard that he was alive in Winterfell, safely away from the war that had taken so much from him. Her love for her family had become a forgotten shadow during her imprisonment in King's Landing and in the Vale, but that love had blossomed again once she was free from her cage. At night she dreamed of her parents and Robb, laughing and smiling again. She had wanted to touch them desperately again, realizing that Robb was a boy again and her mother was no longer the cruel and merciless Lady Stoneheart. Her love had only slept, and now she was determined to find the surviving members of her separated family. She had heard that Jon Snow was again commanding the Night's Watch with his direwolf and raven by his side. In a former life, Sansa had despised Jon Snow for the rift he caused between her parents' love for each other, but now she realized that her cousin was family. Her father had made a great sacrifice to say that the bastard son of Rheagar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark was his own. The words of her father's secret and sacrifice were now known in the North. Jon Snow knew the truth of his parentage himself, but felt personally that he was more a wolf than a dragon. _Even though he is not my half-brother anymore, he is still my family. He is still a Stark by his mother, and I am still a Stark by my father. _She realized that she had always loved Jon Snow. Only her desire to be a lady like her mother had shadowed that love until almost nothing remained. She now looked at the man behind her. _"I wanted to protect Sansa Stark because I could." _His words had melted her heart. Sandor's dark hair softly blew in the wind, and his grey eyes were bright against the snow. The burn scars that he had acquired from childhood protruded slightly. _I love him. I love him for no reason other than he is here beside me._ _He feels the same. Love will survive the coldest winter and the warmest summer._

Sansa stopped below a heart tree, and smiled nostalgically from the memories her father had first taken her to the godswood. She had been five years old at the time, and had taken Arya with her. Her little sister had been three at the time, and had stared wide-eyed at the trees. Jon already had a close relationship with the younger female Stark, and the boy of eight was beside her, making certain that she watched her step. Jon's smile still haunted her even now, and she remembered Arya's squeal of laughter that day. The memory seemed to give her strength., for she unclasped her coat and let it fall into the frozen white ground. Faintly she heard his footsteps. She felt his warm hand in her own, and even as she closed her eyes to memorize the moment, Sansa could feel Sandor's happiness. "Are you certain of this, little bird?" At the sound of her old nickname, she opened her eyes. Sandor stood before her wearing plain mail and armor with his sword by his side. She was wearing a dress of grey and blue – Stark colors. Her long auburn hair was down, plaited in the style of the North, and looked magnificent beside the white snow. "I've never been more certain, Sandor," she whispered t o him. Sansa continued to gaze at Sandor. He had chosen to not wear Clegane's colors and instead wore plain mail and armor with a sword at his side. He too looked magnificent with his dark hair dark as night, and his body free of the blood and sweat that usually coated his skin. Robert stood proudly beside them, wearing a small robe of dark blue and gold. Although the three companions had protested, Queen Daenerys had the finest weavers make robes for them in their House colors, and had the armory make Sandor mail and armor. _Thank you, Your Grace, _Sansa thought with a smile as she and Sandor stood before the heart tree. Robert stood across from his master, to serve as a witness to their wedding.

"My father said that the old gods can see us," Sansa whispered. Her voice eerily echoed in the sacred place. "So that no septon or priest can interfere. We only have to say our vows to each other." Sandor nodded and bent to his knees. He faced her, and Sansa saw unconditional love in his eyes. He wrapped his arms around her, and Sansa felt warmth spreading through every inch of her body as he spoke.

"Sansa Stark, from the moment I saw you, I wanted to protect you. I wanted to protect from every fear you had and from any enemy that was bent on destroying you happiness. I am sorry I couldn't protect you in King's Landing, from the knights' cruel blows and the king's cold laughter, but I promise from this day forth to protect you. I will not rest until my life bleeds from my body, and I will stay loyal, honest, and dedicated to you forever. Until I die, my love and devotion to you will not cease. I will love every smile and laughter you give to me, and adore any child you give to me. I thought I had lost love with my elder sister, but my love for you grows every waking minute you are alive. I will protect you, serve you, and die for you if need to. I will live only for you, my love. My love will stay with you forever, Sansa, even in death."

_A wife's mirror vows echoes her husband's. _Sansa remembered her mother telling her that."I am now Sansa Clegane, and my love will stay with you forever, Sandor, even in death." She felt his lips on hers, passionate and warm. She melted in the kiss they shared, and never wanted to let go. Late at night as they lied against each other beneath their furs, Sansa felt her husband's heartbeat. It was strong, and fast against her hand as he slept, and remembered his words. Robert was standing guard. _"__I will protect you, serve you, and die for you if need to." I pledge the same, my lord husband._

* * *

Voices shouted in the air. Sansa heard their horses galloping as they rode, and heard their cries. She felt a hand grasp her arm, and tried to break free. Red flames appeared before her, and she tried to tear free. She searched for Sandor, her husband, but couldn't find him. A large stag coated with red bared her way, and flames blocked her path. The hand grasped her arm again, and she felt familiar warmth spreading through her body. _Sandor…_ Sansa opened her eyes. Sandor was holding her arm tightly. Robert was in front of them, bearing his knife. Sansa saw a tall man with balding black hair wearing a crown before her. A sword was in his hand. _Stannis, _she immediately thought. All the warriors surrounding him bore a sigil of a stag in a field of flames. All their weapons were raised, calm as Sandor unsheathed his sword and as Robert continued standing in front of them. Behind Stannis was a prisoner. Short with unkempt hair, Sansa hadn't noticed him behind the leader of the band before them. Then she saw his eyes. One eye was green; the other was black. His beard was also tangled with hairs of grey, gold, and black. _Tyrion Lannister, _she thought numbly. She could see that her husband knew who the prisoner as well. The left side of his face twitched. _He means to kill us, _Sansa realized with horror as she gazed into Stannis' stern dark blue eyes. She remembered how her father had told her that Stannis Baratheon's heart was cold as the North wind. He did not bend. _Stannis means to kill Tyrion, Sandor, and I. Maybe even Robert, who is only a child. He means to kill us for crimes we didn't commit._


	17. Robert II

_Robert II_

Robert felt the cold wind through his bones as he stood guard in the snow. His master was confident that he would warn him if there were any enemies afoot. _"Do you remember where the heart is?" _The boy of nine had nodded, and withdrew his knife as his master and newly wedded wife Sansa slept beneath their furs. If only he had known what was coming. He had been happy for his master and Sansa, his cousin, who were very much in love. _"__My love will stay with you forever, Sansa, even in death_." He still remembered their tender vows to each other, and remembered too how Sansa had wanted to find her lost siblings. _"I will follow you wherever you go, my lady."_ Robert had said those words, and meant every one of them. His thoughts were still on the wedding when he heard hushed voices in the wind. He turned, clutching his knife tightly and saw cold blue eyes staring at him.

Robert heard his heart echoing in his ears, and saw the warrior's mouth move. He couldn't hear the words he was so afraid. His knife trembled in his hand and he woke his master by whispering to him, hoping the sound of his voice would awake him. "Master!" Suddenly his master's grey eyes were open, and he stood, shaking off the furs that had covered him with Sansa's half-conscious form against him. _I must be brave, _Robert thought as the warrior stepped into the cold snow. His men followed him, and Robert observed that on their armor was a stag surrounded by a red heart, burning with flames. _Stannis, _he realized. "_Stannis marches to King's Landing to challenge my right to the crown." He means to fight Her Grace, _Robert thought as the false king ushered a bound prisoner forward. _But why is he stopping us? _ Suddenly Robert saw his master's left side of his face twitch, and followed his gaze. The prisoner was short, _very _short, and had unkempt golden hair with a tangled beard. His eyes were not one color; one was green and one was black, and the prisoner suddenly smiled, protruding the hideous scar on his face. Half on his nose was missing, Robert observed with horror.

"Lord Robert Arryn of the Eryie had grown up I see. You're no longer sniveling in your mother's breasts and pampered, and holding a _sword _I see. It looks newly made. Can I touch it?" The prisoner continued to smile, and Robert felt his mocking tone. He felt the prisoner's eyes on him, and felt a surge of anger. _The Imp, _he thought, narrowing his eyes. _He mocked my mother too. _Only the queen had called him by his title, and he had seen her respect when she had uttered those words. There was no respect in the Imp's eyes. Robert remembered how the Imp had escaped from his mother's clutches. _"I want to see him fly!" _He heard his younger self, and felt the forgotten anger when the Imp had disappeared. _This time I will make him fly. _He stood in front of Sansa and his master, bearing his knife toward the Imp's face.

"Stannis." His master's voice was curt. "What are doing here?"

Robert saw the false king clench his teeth. "That is no way to talk to a king."

"I don't see a king. I only see a half-starved man with rusted soldiers." At his master's words, the false king's men aimed the swords at his face. Robert didn't move, and heard Sansa take a deep breath. Stannis walked over to Sandor Clegane, not breaking stride, and stood in front of the taller man. Robert eyed the long and bright sword Stannis held in his hand and moved to his master's side as the false king came closer. Robert could see his close-cropped beard and his gaunt face with dark rings around his eyes.

"I only see a Lannister dog that ran away from its master." He nodded in the direction of the Imp. "I found the Imp by the Neck, running from his crimes of kingslaying." Again, Stannis grinded his teeth and Robert could see his bone-like hands clench his long sword. "I thought I would bring him back to King's Landing for justice, and it seems I found two deserters with a small boy."

_Small? _Robert's face became a shade of red at those words. Although he had grown considerably since he began his training, his height was rather disappointing compared to boys his age as he had seen in King's Landing. _"Stoneslayer is a mere child?" _He recalled the man's laughter in his ears as he had come to find that others wanted to see Cersei Lannister's head as well. _"Can I see the knife you killed Lady Stoneheart with?" _Robert had cautiously complied, and he watched as the man fingered his knife delicately, a thoughtful expression on his face. _"Dragonglass…" _He carefully handed by the knife to Robert, who had hastily put the knife back in his belt. _"Dragonglass can cut and kill through anything, Stoneslayer. Use it well. All great swords have famous names. Have you named it yet?" _Robert still remembered how he had thought of names throughout the way back to the North in the kingsroard and the night after his master's wedding to Sansa. Now a name came to him as the false king and his master spoke. _My weapon's name from this day forward will be Protector._

"You mean to kill us, including Robert." Sansa spoke calmly, without trembling or without fear in her voice. "You mean to kill me for murdering Joffrey and my husband for deserting him. You only mean to kill Robert for the only reason that he is with us. I don't understand."

"The Hound is not your husband," Stannis said through grinded teeth. "The Imp is still your husband, Lady Lannister, and you deserted him. Even though he committed grievous actions, you are united for life." Stannis' voice was cold and hard as he spoke to Sansa. "Even though your husband had no love for you, it is my duty to punish you for your desertion from him and your hand in his crimes." Robert's master released his hold on his wife. Robert could see the rage in his master's eyes, and saw Stannis lift his sword. Sansa didn't move from her husband's side.

"No!" Robert screamed. But the two heard his pleas too late. As soon as the two warriors raised their swords, Stannis' men backed off and lowered their own. Robert ran forward, kicking up snow as he ran. He could see his breath through the cold air, and saw the glint from his master's sword from the sun. _"Look with your eyes boy, and use your speed." _Robert could see that Stannis was aiming for a fatal thrust to Sansa's body, who was moving to make his attack less effective. He could see her auburn hair blowing through the fierce winter wind, and saw his master holding his ground by using his body as a human shield. _He means to take this attack! _Robert heard a feral-like sound coming from his master's throat, and the boy ran even as his legs felt on fire. _Master means to die for her! _Suddenly there was a sickening crunch.

Robert was crouched down by his master's feet. Blood dripped by his feet, and he clutched his knife's hilt with shaking arms. Blood dripped down onto his fingers and onto his hands. He heard a massive groan above him, and saw Stannis' pale face. The knife was in the tender flesh of his stomach from the hilt, and Robert saw the false king's life blood flow onto the snow, making the snow's white crimson. "Why?" Stannis' face was bloodless and pale from the cold. He tried to grope for his sword, but couldn't from the pain that the dragonglass knife brought him. He let out a strangled gasp.

"Dragonglass can cut through anything, even armor," Robert whispered. He was astounded by how serious and deep his voice became. "It can kill anything." He looked the false king, who was struggling to hold in his pain. "I have no grudge against you, but I had to protect my master and his wife." Robert was shocked to see that Stannis was holding his sword in his hand. It wasn't aimed at him, and Robert had no idea how he didn't notice the sword before. Slowly, he looked behind him to see Stannis' sword poking through his master's chest. Blood coated his mail and armor. The cut was deep, Robert could see, and he suddenly saw Sansa running towards them, her safety forgotten as she rushed to her husband's side.

"You couldn't protect him, boy." Robert continued to stare at Stannis, who was bleeding at the mouth. He could hear Sansa's muffled cries in his ears as she struggled to free the sword that gouged her husband's chest. Suddenly Robert let go of his knife and turned to his master. His master was on his knees, with blood continuing to soak his mail and armor. Blood flowed onto the ground and onto Sansa's white hands as she tried to pry the sword from his master's chest. Robert's master was pale as snow, and his breathing was labored and coughed blood. Tears welled in Robert's eyes. _It shouldn't have come to this. Stannis was going to kill Sansa and Master was going to defend her. I wanted to protect them. I thought I was going to save them. _Robert felt his fingers hand covered by another warmer and bigger hand. He felt Sansa's auburn hair over his shoulders, and with strength unknown to both of them, the sword eased out of Sandor Clegane's chest.

The sword collapsed on the snow, droplets of blood falling. Robert saw Sansa ease his master onto the fallen snow on his side. Blood still coated his chest and his breathing grew more rapid and labored. His dark hair fell into his eyes, and Sansa quickly turned to find Robert holding his knife that had fallen to the ground. Blood was quickly drying on it because of the cold, and they both realized that Stannis and his men were gone, as was the sword. "The sword is gone…" Robert whispered. His voice echoed in the wind. The Imp was gone as well. Only an indent in the snow remained, and horses' hooves had collected in the snow as well. Suddenly a rush of despair overwhelmed the boy. His master was hideously wounded and barely conscious, and Sansa took parts of her robes to dress his wounds. Blood the color of crimson quickly coated them. _Stannis must have left when Sansa and I were easing Master onto the floor. I didn't hear them leave._ Robert tried to calm his helplessness inside him but couldn't. _They're gone. __I was supposed to protect my master and Sansa, but instead I could be the end of them. _Robert Arryn let out a choked sob.


	18. Sandor VII

_ Sandor VII_

Sandor couldn't move. He couldn't breathe. Every breath felt as if the sword was still lodged in his chest. He felt his blood soak the bandages Sansa had given him, and felt her warm and sticky hands grope at the wound. Sandor could tell that the wound would be the end of him without being a maester. The blood came too fast, and his strength waned every moment he remained alive. His hands shook whenever he tried to grasp his wife's hand. He could see her pale face, bloodless as his own, and the naked fear in her beautiful blue eyes. Tears were welling in her eyes, and Sandor tried to tell her not to cry and that everything was what it was supposed to be. He couldn't though, because blood threatened to choke him whenever he tried to speak. He watched as Robert tried to calm Sansa down and failed to. Her red eyes haunted Sandor even as he slept. Sometimes he felt as if he were floating in the sky, far away from the cries of despair. Every time he kept hearing Sansa calling his name and Robert crying. And every time when he awoke with a fever Sandor was closer to death.

He knew that he, his wife, and his student were in the same place where he had been wounded. Sandor still remembered the false king's attempt at justice; killing Sansa for slaying Joffrey, and how he stood in his way. _"No!" _Robert had tried to stop the two warriors from killing each other, and had wounded Stannis in the stomach. But the false king had still been able to slice Sandor's skin and wound his chest. Now Stannis was gone, with the Imp. _The buggering Imp, _Sandor thought angrily as he continued lying in the snow as spasms of pain tortured his body. Snowflakes flew onto his face. The Imp had mocked Robert, just as he had mocked everyone in the world simply because of his height and being an outcast in his family. The Imp thought he had endured the worst pain throughout his life. _Bugger that,_ Sandor thought as he remembered Sansa and Robert frantically trying to clean his festering wound. Robert's pale face and Sansa's tears echoed in his mind. They both would learn true sorrow soon enough. _"What the fuck does a sickly boy know about sorrow?" _Soon the boy and Sansa would know what true sorrow meant. _"__You won't feel true sorrow until winter releases its wrath, until hunger gnaws your body until you beg for the mercy of death. "Sorrow eats you up, boy, like a horrible disease that consumes you until you're a shell of your former self, mad with grief…until you see ghosts and beg them to take them with you. Then you either live or you die."_ Sandor remembered how he hoped that Sansa wouldn't experience that kind of sorrow, but he remembered the maegi's words. _"Your death will mean the end of her."_

At times he dreamed. He saw his sister's smiling face, touching his cheek, reminding him that she would never leave him. He saw the men, women, and children he had killed in his thirty years, and everywhere he looked he saw his sister, Anor, sobbing. As he came closer to her, Sandor came to realize that the woman he was looking at was Sansa. She was wearing a blue dress, similar to the one his sister wore when she died. He saw his wife's sadness as thick tears wet her dress. Her hair was fiery as ever, but somehow he saw that the fire in her eyes was gone. Her hands were on her stomach, which slightly bulged, and Sandor realized that his wife was no longer alone. He tried to call out to her, but his voice was stuck in his throat. Sansa's image blurred, and then he saw a young man. The young man was tall, around six foot, and dark hair hung around his eyes. His eyes were grey, sad, and lost. Sandor saw that the young man's eyes were the same grey as his own, and that his skin was white as snow, as his wife's was. _My...son. _

"Master?" Sandor heard Robert calling to him. He sounded afraid, and his small hands lingered above his face. "Master?"

Nineteen years ago, Sandor had tried to make his scars disappear, and had found a maegi willing to help him. However, she said that she could heal his heart but not his face. Sandor had been nine years old, but she said that his heart was already broken, and would be broken again before he became a man. _"You will not die from a sword, but from a wound," _she had said, continuing despite the confusion and rage on his face. _"You will die protecting your lover. She will weep for you." _The boy he had been started, and stared at the old frog-like woman. _"You will find love, boy, but it will die with you with your death." _Sandor had asked if he would kill his brother, and the maegi laughed. The laughter filled in the tent, echoing in the forest that surrounded them. _"You will not kill your hated brother, although you will want to." _She had ignored his furious stare. _"A child will be born from your seed, but you will not be with him as he struggles to find who and what he is. His story will be similar to a bastard's but yet he will not have a bastard's name."_ The maegi's eyes met his own smoldering with anger, and calmly put her hand over his. _"There are worse ways to die. You will die for her, boy, and your death will mean the end of her."_

The maegi's voice still echoed in his ears. The prophecy she had made lingered in his memory as he watched his sister raped and killed; when he saved Sansa, his future wife, from the mob; when he was dying by the Trident; and when he had felt the sword carve into his flesh. Sandor's heart had been broken twice, once when his face was burned ate age six, and again when Anor had been violated and decapitated when he was twelve. He had thought that his heart was dead, but at age twenty-six it had begun to beat again. Sandor hadn't known why he had felt protectiveness over such a naïve and foolish child, but as his feelings started to grow, he realized that he saw Sansa Stark as Anor Clegane, the dearly loved sister he hadn't been able to protect. For a time he hated the girl, for she had brought back agonizing memories of his sister's death. Nightmares returned with a vengeance, and people of King's Landing whispered about the Hound's cries late into the night. _"Don't…kill her. Please…brother, don't kill my…Anor. Don't take…her…away from me…" _Eventually happier memories of Anor retuned, and he loved Sansa for who she was, not just simply for being his sister's echo. _I will die for you, _he thought over and over again as Sansa stared with fright in her eyes as she gazed at him in the present. He forced himself to keep his eyes open. _I love you._

Sandor felt Sansa's hand entwined in his own. Tears dripped onto his face, but he barely felt them. Robert was gazing at him as well, tears pooling in his eyes. Sandor heard Sansa whispering his name, pleading to the old gods and the new to spare him. Her saw her face, trembling, and thought she never looked more beautiful. Her auburn curls hung in her face. "Don't…kill him. Please…gods, don't kill my…Sandor." As his wife whimpered, Sandor felt a strange tranquility overcome him. He somehow knew that everything would be all right. _We'll meet again by the lemon tree my sister loved so much, and we'll just be there, for that night, and for all nights to come. _ He felt Robert's swollen eyes on his face, and heard him whisper something inaudible. Sandor closed his eyes. "I…" he had to speak; he had to say it even as his life seeped away. "Little bird…Sansa…I…" He squeezed his wife's smaller hand in his own. "I love…you." The last sound he heard was Sansa's and Robert's sobs. It occurred to him then that this is what Anor heard too as she died. Her brother's cries.

_My time here is done. _Sighing, Sandor Clegane released his wife's hand and died.


	19. Brienne IV

_Brienne IV_

Breinne had passed Winterfell and towards the Neck when she saw him. From a distance, he looked no more than another snowflake, but as she drew her mount closer, she realized that she was looking at the body of the heir to Winterfell – Bran Stark. His direwolf was lying beside him, guarding him almost with his golden eyes never missing anything. At Brienne's mount's approach, he growled and she witnessed his sharp dagger-like teeth. He was twice the size of the boy. Her mount stepped back and Brienne took this moment to take a closer look at the direwolf's master. Brienne thought he looked rather small for a child around ten years. His auburn hair was down to his neck, and she saw that his skin was white as snow. The boy wore a normal attire for a Northern man, but she saw that his breeches were stained with blood. Cautiously Brienne walked forward to appear closer at him, but saw no wounds on his body. _He looks more like his mother than his father, _she thought sadly. Bran Stark had been thought dead by many, including his own mother, but Stannis had said that Theon Greyjoy had failed to kill the heir and his younger brother. Rickon Stark was supposedly going to Winterfell for safety as the War of the Five Kings raged on. Suddenly Bran's direwolf growled again, and Brienne saw the boy's eyes open. _Tully blue eyes,_ Brienne observed.

"Summer?" The boy's eyes opened wider, and he looked across from him to find his direwolf beside him. Bran Stark gave a startled laugh and he stroked the direwolf's fur. Brienne noticed that the boy's legs were still as he continued talk and stroke his direwolf named Summer. _He is a cripple, _Brienne remembered. _How could he have gotten back home without the use of his legs? _Suddenly the said boy realized there was someone else besides him and Summer, and he looked to find Brienne's large form in front of him.

"My name is Brienne of Tarth," Bran was polite enough to look intimidated by her imposing height or stare at her scarred face. He only looked at her curiously. "I once served your mother, Lady Catelyn Stark." Bran's eyes visibly brightened, but quickly became sad. "She thought you were dead, as did many others." Brienne swallowed, unable to meet Bran's saddened face. "How did you manage to survive and flee the sack of Winterfell?" Bran's eyes looked down at his legs. He knew what she was asking him.

"Do you mean how did I survive the sack of Winterfell and fled despite being a cripple?" Brienne nodded. She saw the boy sigh and he stroked Summer for a few moments before he spoke. "Hodor carried me." His reply was a mere whisper, and Brienne had to lean in closer to him to hear what he said next. "He was a tall simple man. He was even taller than you, Lady Brienne. Hodor carried me from Winterfell with our companions to beyond the Wall the meet the three-eyed crow." Brienne continued to listen as the holes of the story filled in. The three-eyed crow was actually a man merged within a tree, who taught him everything he knew about warging and greendreams. He told her about the white walker, Coldhands, who had been their companion throughout their journey. Brienne was astounded that Bran had the power to merge with trees, birds, wolves, or any kind of animal. He could also merge and control a human for a limited amount of time. Eventually, Bran's voice became quiet again and he hugged Summer so fiercely that Brienne thought the direwolf would snap at him, but that didn't occur. "Meera, Jojen, Hodor, Summer, and I were in the Greywater Watch Tower when we were attacked. It was by another white walker, one who had survived beyond the Wall. Jojen foresaw his death, and even when he realized that this would be his end, he didn't run away. He stood his ground and died defending me." Bran's voice shook and tears streamed down his cheeks.

"I…remember Meera, howling with grief as she tried to defeat the white walker. We didn't know how to defeat him, but she _tried. _His blue eyes were the last thing she ever saw when he pulled out a long blade that ended her life. Jojen and Meera told me not to fight, but I couldn't then. They were dead, their blood pooling onto the floor. I _couldn't._" Bran continued holding onto Summer's fur as he shook. "I merged into Hodor, and fought the white walker. I couldn't even wound him and he was about to kill me when I remembered when Coldhands told us that he was a white walker, and that the only way to defeat his kind was fire. He told us that it may save our life one day. I pushed the white walker in the fireplace towards where Jojen's and Meera's bodies lied, and the last thing I saw – that Hodor saw – was the blade's point coming towards my face." Bran managed to lift his head and look at Brienne, and saw that there was nothing was but self-loathing in his gaze.

"I was afraid, and I changed back into my own skin. Hodor died when I should have died with him." He licked his lips. "I remember waking up, with the smell of burnt flesh. The first thing I saw was blood. Meera's and Jojen's bodies were still as stone, and Hodor's head was hacked off. I wasn't brave, Lady Brienne. My father told me once that the only time that a man can be brave was when he was afraid, but I…couldn't save anyone. My friends, the ones who sacrificed their lives for me, were brave. I…wasn't." Bran's body now shook with sobs. "Lord Reed told me that I did what I had to do, and that he was proud of his children for their loyalty and sacrifice. He allowed me to leave, with Summer by my side. With Hodor dead, I started riding him. He's bigger than me now, and he carried me here until I begged for a rest. That's when you found me, Lady Brienne."

Brienne didn't say a word. Bran Stark was silent, watching the snow melting in her hair. _I have never known what it is like to be brave, Bran. Not even as Biter gouged my face. _She crouched down and grasped the boy's hand in her bigger one. "I don't know what it means to be brave, Bran." The boy stared at her sullenly. "Perhaps your friends did have true bravery, but you must be strong. You have to be strong now, acknowledge your mistakes, and move on. Only then will you be able to acquire true bravery next time." Bran didn't reply, but she saw that he had a thoughtful expression in his eyes.

"I don't ever want to forget them," Bran whispered. He looked at the female knight before him, and she saw that his eyes were dry. "I want to remember that sacrifice and give back to them by being a true and loyal friend to anyone that asks for it. But…how do I do it?"

Brienne gave him a small smile. "By going come, Lord Bran Stark." She saw him nod, and she mounted her mare. Seconds later Bran was on Summer's back, clutching his fur with his hands. _Even though he is a cripple, _she thought, _Lord Bran Stark is what a man should be. _"Let's go home."


	20. Robert III

_Robert III_

Robert Arryn thought that he would never be a man. When they first met, his master had told him that he wasn't brave. _"From this day forward you will be known as Robert and not, sweetrobin." _Suddenly Robert felt his eyes sting, and knew that tears were forming in his eyes. He hastily brushed them away; his master was dead now, and Sansa had no one else. The nine year old boy looked back at the young widow. Her hands were still entwined in her husband's, even though a sunrise had passed since he breathed his last breath. Her shoulders were shaking, and Robert didn't have to look at her face to know that she was crying. He had cried too for his master, but that time was passed him now. Robert had to be strong, for Sansa and for himself. He couldn't allow himself to be overwhelmed with grief.

His master had held onto life for a couple days after his wound festered. Robert remembered how the dying man had slept feverishly, moaning in his sleep, and had become calm and serene in his last moments. Sansa still held onto his cold hand, and Robert felt tears threatening to overwhelm him again. The boy took a deep breath and crouched down towards Sansa, trying desperately to avert his gaze from his master's body. "Sansa…" Robert found it hard to speak, and was silent for a couple of moments as his widowed cousin continued to hold on to his master's form. "Sansa, my master is gone. It's…" Robert felt sadness bubble in his throat and choked down a sob. He remembered how he had despaired during the moments when he realized that his master was wounded. _I thought I would cause their deaths, _Robert thought dully as Sansa's tears pooled down onto his master's cheeks. _I was the cause of only one…the one that was most precious to both of us._ "We need to go home, Sansa. My master…your husband…would want you to go home." This time the boy did get a clear view of Sansa's face, and he recoiled.

Sansa's formerly lush auburn hair was in tangles. Her face was paler than the snow that his master lied on, and her eyes were red-rimmed and dark circles of exhaustion were under his eyes. Her hands griped his mater's fiercely; she would not let go. Her former pink lips were now cracked and were splattered with blood. But Robert thought that the most frightening of her appearance was her eyes. Her beautiful blue eyes that had stolen his master's heart were empty. Her voice was void of any emotion. "I have no home. Winterfell is dead with my family, and I found a home with my husband, but it died with him. I have no home." Robert didn't know what to say. _She is grieving, _he realized as she turned her head back to his master. _So this…this is true sorrow. _At one time his master had been angry with him for saying that he knew sorrow. His master had told him that he nor Sansa hadn't experienced true sorrow. Even with Robert's mother's death and when Sansa had lost everyone that she loved, they hadn't experienced a sorrow where they wanted to die. _"True sorrow…" _That was what Robert had said when his master had breathed his last breath. He had wanted to ask him if this is what true sorrow was, but somehow he couldn't take control of his own voice. Then his master had told Sansa that he loved her, and died. _She is experiencing true sorrow. _

Eventually Robert had told Sansa that her home would be with her husband; he would be buried at Winterfell, and his spirit and love would always be there. Sansa had loosened her grip on his master's cold hand when he had spoken, and had numbly nodded when he had finished speaking. She stiffly stood and ceased her grip on his master's hand, and she said that somehow it seemed as though her husband was at peace. _"He looks like he's sleeping,"_ she had stated sadly. Together they had been able to lift the body onto Stranger's broad back. Strangely his master's body remained motionless, and did not threaten to fall even as the snow reached their knees and winds blew at the branches at the trees. Stranger seemed compliant and subdued during the time he carried his owner's body across the North. He even allowed Robert to lead him and grasp his reins as the road to Winterfell became more treacherous. _Does he know that our master is dead? _Robert wondered as their journey came to an end. He saw the fallen castle Winterfell in the distance. He saw the debris of the fallen stone and the ashes from former fires. He looked back at Sansa, and saw that snow was melting in her hair and she stumbled. Robert held out a hand to help her but she shook her head. _She's determined to take her husband home, _Robert thought as the entrance to her childhood home came closer. _But what will happen when the deed is done? _The boy didn't want an answer, and he didn't get one.

Robert heard shouting in the distance. His and Sansa's footsteps echoed in the barren hall, and Stranger's hooves made an equally eerie echo. A long table stretched almost the entire length of the room, and Robert stared at the barren seat at the center. He was startled when Sansa spoke. "That was my father's seat." Her voice sounded thick from surfacing memories. There was nostalgic tone in her voice, and her eyes seemed clearer than before. "He was the lord of this castle, and my older brother Robb was supposed to follow him. They're dead now, and they should have stayed in Winterfell where they belonged." She shook her head and emptiness now returned. "Bran and Rickon could be dead, and that only leaves Jon and I. I'm the widow of Sandor Clegane, a warrior of the South, and Jon is the bastard son of Queen Daenerys own brother. He and I have Stark blood, but would our brothers accept us?" Sansa left that question hanging in the air, and evaded her gaze from the lord's seat of Winterfell. Voices shouted in the distance, closer now, and Robert answered her before he lost his voice again.

"I think Jon Snow would be a good lord of Winterfell." His voice echoed in the hall and he was silent for a couple of moments. He had never been asked his opinion before, and now he waited anxiously for Sansa's answer. He was shocked when he saw a small smile on Sansa's face.

"I think so too, Robert." Suddenly the doors leading to the hall opened. Both of them looked back.

Standing behind them were three figures. Robert immediately noticed the adults. There was a man with brown hair with flecks of grey in his beard. He was plainly dressed, and Robert saw that the man's left hand's fingers were shortened. His right hand was placed on a young boy's shoulder, who kept shouting intelligible words to Sansa. Robert found that Sansa was crying again, only this time the tears were from happiness and not sorrow. He focused more attention on the boy who was now crying as well. The child had blue eyes and short auburn hair which curled at the end. Even though Robert put his age to be five years old, the boy's height almost matched his own. Across the said child was a very huge and tall warrior. Robert noticed that the warrior carried a sword, beautiful with colors of red and gold. _She's almost as tall as Master, _Robert thought as the warrior bent her knee to Sansa and introduced herself and her companions.

Her name was Lady Brienne of Tarth. He saw that her hair was the color of straw and she had blue eyes. Scars crisscrossed her face, but neither Robert nor Sansa started when she looked down at them. _Master had worse scars._ The man was introduced as Lord Davos Seaworth of Storm's End and the former Hand of King Stannis. Robert saw Sansa visibly pale at the sound of the false king's name, and Robert himself suppressed a shudder. Stannis had tried to kill Sansa and Robert's master had paid with his life defending her. Robert forced down his memories as the boy was introduced as Rickon Stark, future lord of Winterfell. Lady Brienne suddenly stepped aside to reveal that another person was waiting for them. Robert couldn't help but stare when he saw that the figure was riding a direwolf. The direwolf had gold eyes and grey and white fur. He growled at them, and Robert recoiled. The figure eased his companion by slowly and delicately stroking his head. Robert looked at the direwolf's master, and saw wise blue eyes staring into his frightened brown eyes. Somehow Robert calmed after meeting his gaze. The figure before them was no more than a boy, albeit a year older than Robert. Thick auburn hair reached down to his neck, and had darker blue eyes than Sansa and Rickon. His mouth remained a thin line until his direwolf was a few feet from Sansa. Then his former solemn face broke into a smile. "Hello, Sansa," he simply said. Sansa smiled at her brother despite the tears flowing out of her eyes and embraced him. They remained embraced for a long time.

"I am Bran Stark, Lord of Winterfell." The seven were sitting in Bran's chambers, which were formerly his father's. Bran was lying in the huge bed covered in furs with the direwolf – Summer was his name – at the head of the bed. Brienne and Davos were standing in front of the young lord, with Sansa and Robert beside them. Rickon's hand was fiercely grasped in Sansa's own. "The Kingslayer has since gone to the South away from Winterfell. The Northernmen have already rallied their support for me, despite myself arriving in Winterfell only three days passed with Summer. Lady Brienne has entered my service as well, as she once pledged her loyalty to Lady Catelyn Stark. Lord Davos is currently the guardian of my younger brother, as my title requires intense concentration and dedication to the North. I do not have much time for family." Suddenly Bran smiled. "I am happy you came back, Sansa. I thought you had passed on, like Mother and Father, but it appears that you live. Arya will come back too, I suspect." His wise eyes found Robert's. "I thank you for your protection and service for my sister, my lord Robert. Without you, I would be meeting a ghost instead of a living and breathing human. Thank you."

"I– it is my pleasure, Lord Bran." Robert found his tongue hard to move. _I feel as if he can see everything inside me. My past, my regrets and fears, and my future. My happiness. What is it about those eyes? _Robert bowed low to the paraplegic lord.

Bran's smile faded. "We should have the funeral for Lord Sandor Clegane as soon as possible." Everyone nodded. Robert saw Bran's eyes ooze with empathy as he spoke to his sister. "I am sorry about your loss, Sansa. You told me that your lord husband was a brave man with integrity. He died as any man should, brave and loyal to the people he loved."

"How were they married?" Davos suddenly asked. Robert remembered how visibly shaken he was by the fact that his king almost killed Sansa and had killed Lord Sandor Clegane._ "He had always been just to me," _Robert remembered him saying as a flabbergasted expression echoed on his face. _"I don't understand." _Now he seemed pale and would only speak when requested to.

"I saw them married. It was a traditional Northern wedding." Robert and Sansa looked at Bran in astonishment. The Lord of Winterfell explained. "I am a sknichanger, meaning a can shed my skin and become a bird, a dog, a wolf, a dragon, and even a tree. I see Sansa's and Sandor's wedding as they spoke their vows, and I saw the depth of the love that they had for each other. Snow was melting in their hair, and Robert was standing proudly beside them. Through the tree I heard them say that their love wouldn't end even in death." Robert stared at Bran in astonishment. Somehow during that day he had felt a presence there during his master's Northern wedding. It was a good presence, one that was light and happy. _That presence…was Bran. _Robert realized this as Bran continued to speak. He found a smile beginning to form on his face. Then it faded as Bran spoke that Sandor's body would be burned with fire because of the iron ground and the snow. _No…_

Robert didn't realize he spoke until Lady Brienne looked at him in concern. Sansa also was distressed. "Don't burn him…please. Please…my husband…don't…" Her voice faded into a whisper. Bran nodded. He seemed to understand. Then he gestured his hand to Davos and the former Hand took Sansa's arm and led her to her former chambers. Rickon followed with a bewildered expression on his small face. A look of extreme sadness crossed Bran's face when Robert turned back. His mouth moved to speak, but nothing came out. Summer noticed his master's distress and whined.

"Sansa will die," Bran rasped. He sounded so much like Robert's master that Robert found tears forming in his eyes. "I know you haven't finished grieving for your master, Robert, but my sister will die soon. I had a greendream." Bran took a deep breath and didn't take the time to explain what a greendream was. "There was a woman without a face. I saw red hair coated with blood. Even without eyes, she was crying. A child wailed in her arms. _Her _child, with dark hair and grey eyes. And when he called for her, the woman ceased to breathe. She was my sister. I know who she was, and…she will die very soon. Sandor's death will be the end of Lady Sansa Clegane." Robert's eyes were now red from his tears, and his eyesight blurred. "The child will be born an orphan, and his name will be Anlaun, meaning great hound in honor of his father." The sad blue eyes met Robert's. "She will die in childbed, like Jon Snow's mother, our cousin. I can't do anything to stop it. I'm sorry."

"No…" Robert wailed. "No…_she cannot die!"_

Lord Bran Stark remained silent as Robert sobbed. "Death is a part of life, my lord Robert. Love causes grief from that experience, and that person who is grieving becomes harder and stronger. You will become a strong warrior, and a strong man."


	21. Sansa VII

_Sansa VII_

Sansa felt the babe stir within her. She had wondered when she had first found out that she was with child if she would feel less sad. As fatigue and nausea overtook her as months went by, Sansa still felt the same sadness that had haunted her since Sandor's death. _Did you know I was no longer alone as you died, Sandor? Was that why you were so calm and at peace? _They had only had made love twice during their short time together, and their marriage had been even briefer. She hadn't been married to the man she loved for even a fortnight when Stannis had come and had taken Sandor's life. _The babe will never know his father, _Sansa thought sadly as she lied in her bed. _He'll never know how brave and honest he was. _Sansa knew that the babe she carried was a boy. She didn't know how she knew, and she wondered if her mother knew that she was a girl when she had carried her. It was after Sandor's somber funeral that Sansa found that she was carrying a child. She remembered how the cold wind had shaken her very bones, but hadn't shaken the nausea that had persisted since arriving in Winterfell. The only joy she had found was reuniting with her brothers again. Bran reminded her of their father with his solemn gaze, and Rickon had first thought that she was their mother. Tears had threatened to overwhelm her as she remembered Lady Stoneheart. _I can't tell them, _she vowed. _It would break their hearts. _Sansa remembered how she had trembled when Bran had suggested burning Sandor's body. She remembered when Sandor had told her the story of how he had gotten his terrible scar on his face, and how he had come into her chambers, drunk, angry, and most of all, frightened. A sudden and cold fear had overwhelmed her, and the only peace she had from that moment was sleep. _"Don't burn him…please. Please…my husband…don't…"_ Lord Davos and Lady Brienne had dug a grave in the frozen snow beside the godswood. There was no marker to be made, but Sansa would always remember where her Sandor was buried. _I will never forget._

Sansa realized that her moon's blood had stopped as she lied in bed. _I'm no longer alone, _she had thought. When she had told everyone that she was carrying her husband's child, only Bran had cracked a smile, and Rickon had excitedly asked when the babe would be born. Eight more months, Sansa had replied, and she saw to her confusion that Robert flinched. Lady Brienne wouldn't meet her eyes, and Lord Davos had a pensive look on his face. Sansa continued to feel empty as months went by and as her womb grew. Her life had ended with Sandor's and she felt more dead than alive. _With his last breath he told me that he loved me. He called me by my old nickname, little bird. _Sansa's tears had ceased as her milk grew in her breasts. Her tears had frozen like the diamond glint in the snow. Sometimes she felt that she couldn't move or couldn't breathe, and more often than not she _wished _she had stopped breathing when Sandor had died. But she couldn't. She was carrying a child, _his _child, and had to live for their unborn son. At times Bran came into her chambers to try to console her. Sansa knew that her younger brother meant well, but he didn't understand true sorrow. Eventually his visits had stopped; Bran had to rejuvenate Winterfell and gather a measter and the like for the broken castle. Outside Sansa could vaguely hear Robert train with his knife. _The knife that ended Lady Stoneheart. _She had heard Lady Brienne complain that he wouldn't allow her to train him when she was outside Sansa's door. _Robert Arryn's only master was Sandor Clegane. _Robert couldn't bring himself to look at her when he tried to visit. Otherwise, tears would appear in his eyes. _He thinks I will die in childbed, _Sansa came to realize. Somehow she wasn't afraid of such a death. _I want this. I want to meet the same end as Jon Snow's mother, Lyanna, and my husband's own mother. I want to be with my love again._

The debris surrounding Winterfell were gone and the castle was scrubbed clean and slowly being rebuilt. Fires kept the occupants warm as winter raged around them. Winterfell did not have as many servants as it did four years ago, but for the moment Bran was content. There was no measter to be found during those long eight months. Sansa was waiting for the babe to be born. She was watching Robert and Rickon play in the snow when she felt her water break. The hem of her dress immediately felt damp, and felt a sudden rush of pain. Her womb clenched and loosened as her labor began. Sansa felt an inhuman scream tear from her mouth as blood continued to flow on her bed. The room seemed to spin from her sudden nausea and she was only able to dry heave. Another scream to at her throat as another spasm from her womb came upon her. Bran was suddenly by her side. She felt his sweet breath in her ear as he told her to calm her mind. Summer was curiously sniffing her; she smelled different. Sansa eased her hand onto Summer's fur and started to stroke him. The direwolf visibly calmed and whined. A sudden painful clench made Sansa take back her hand. She hissed in pain, and wondered why servants hadn't come to help her when Bran came. Her sluggish mind remembered that her mother had midwives and Measter Luwin when Rickon was born. Sansa felt a smaller hand clasped in her own clammy one, and felt Bran's calming squeeze. Vaguely she heard footsteps echoing in her chambers and heard Bran shout for warm water and blankets and the footsteps retreating. Suddenly Sansa felt calm. She felt the babe's body ease out of hers.

The babe started to howl and cry. Blinking away her own tears, Sansa saw Bran gently take the babe in his arms and ease him into the warm water to be washed. The babe was male and had downy black hair. The servants – she saw them for the first time – smiled at her. "You are blessed with a healthy son, Lady Clegane." Sansa felt the babe eased into her arms and saw how small he was. Rickon had been twice his size when he was born. But the babe had grey eyes. _His _grey eyes. The infant quieted in her arms. "Anlaun," Sansa whispered smiling. "Your name shall be Anlaun Clegane." The babe stared at her with his dark grey eyes that he had inherited from his father. "Meaning great hound, in honor of your lord father." Suddenly weariness overcame her. She felt that she couldn't even hold the babe in her arms. Silently, she slept. Her chambers were dark when she awoke. Sansa felt weak and felt blood leaking out of her. The babe was no longer in her arms. Where was he? She had a hard time keeping her eyes open. One of the servants had her son in their arms, staring at her in despair. _I'm…dying. _She was not afraid, and wanted to tell them so, but her mouth felt too weak to move. _I…will be with my husband now. We'll meet at his sister's favorite lemon tree that he told me about, and stay for that night and for all night's to come._ Sansa heard little Anlaun Clegane, her son, crying for her. Sansa sighed deeply in release, knowing that Sandor was waiting for her and died.


	22. Robert IV

_Robert IV_

Robert couldn't move. He felt as if he couldn't breathe, and thought that his heart would stop when he heard that Sansa had died from birthing her son, but it didn't. _So…Bran spoke the truth. _Robert hadn't been with Sansa when she died as Bran had. He had told Robert and Rickon that Sansa was at peace, and she wasn't in pain anymore. Rickon had been consoled and had openly wept. Robert had felt nothing. He only felt the emptiness where his heart had been. _Is this true sorrow, Master? _Robert did not shed tears for Sansa as he did for his master. He felt empty, and felt himself withering away inside. He felt cold, colder than he had felt when he and Sansa had fled the Vale. He spent most of the hours after Sansa's death training with his weapon. Robert was certain that he could now efficiently wound someone and could parry a sword for hours on end. That gave him no joy now. Most of the time he practiced until his body felt cold, but now he stayed until his fingers bled and his lips were blue. It was the only way he could handle his grief. Robert did not want to be a sniveling, whining, and crying boy he had been when his mother had died. _That boy is dead._

Curiously enough, Robert did not blame the babe for Sansa's death. The babe had lost his mother that he didn't even know, and howled even when Bran found a wet nurse. It made Robert wonder if the babe was grieving as well. His name was Anlaun Clegane, meaning great hound. _"A hound will die for you, but never lie to you."_ He remembered when Sansa had told him the history of House Clegane; of how the three dogs had died protecting their master's master. Robert was shocked by how much Anlaun looked like his father. Swollen grey eyes stared at him when he walked passed, always following him. Downy dark hair covered his entire head. Robert started to wonder if he looked like his own father. His mother had blue eyes and had auburn hair. He had brown eyes and dark brown hair. Robert had been told many times during his childhood that his father was old enough to be his grandfather, and was almost toothless and had white hair. _Perhaps I look like him when he was a young man, _he thought. _And perhaps Anlaun will look like my master without the scars. _Robert knew that not all male children inherited their father's features. Bran and Rickon Stark looked more like their mother. Arya, their older sister, had dark hair and grey eyes as opposed to auburn hair and blue eyes. She was still not found, something that plagued Bran's heart. _"From what I remember, my sisters did not get along. They were too different from each other. I wonder now if Arya would mourn Sansa's death instead of telling me that she was stupid for carrying a child." _Bran did not blame Anlaun for his sister's death, but Rickon avoided the orphaned babe. His eyes would grow dark with anger whenever he saw his infant nephew, and wouldn't refer to him by his name. Instead he called the babe Clegane's Heir.

Sansa was buried next to her husband a day after her death. Her bloodied dress was replaced with a clean and fresh one, and was white as snow. It was a somber affair once again as Lord Davos and Lady Brienne covered Sansa's body with frozen soil and snow. Rickon was unashamedly crying, and Bran looked as if his face was made out of stone. Robert was silent. _I'm the only one left now. _Robert's lips were turning blue from the cold as he stood at Sansa's unmarked grave. Everyone else had gone back inside the castle. _I was a weak and a cowardly boy, and Sansa was still naïve and trusting when Master found us. Now Master and Sansa are dead. I couldn't protect them. I was…the end to them. _Suddenly Robert's face felt hot and with trembling hands he touched the warm tears that were traveling down his face. _I failed the only people I wanted to protect. Sansa was like a second mother to me, and believed in me. My master was the only father figure that I'll ever have. They taught me so much, about pain, about love, and about true sorrow. I wanted to die when I heard that Sansa had passed, but I didn't. _The tears wouldn't stop and Robert felt his eyesight blurring. _I now know what true sorrow is, Master. _Softly he sang. Robert was surprised by how sweet and high his voice was for being a boy of nine years.

_"Shards of home are too far away for you to grasp_

_I see the pain and fear in your eyes that plague you_

_Every waking day you wonder if there's a place you belong_

_A place to live and love and stay not die and despair_

_Shadows of the past haunt your sleep, torment you_

_And make you wonder if all you love is dead_

_For everything in life must wither, die, and bleed."_

"You either live or you die," he murmured. His hands were shaking and numb. His lips were bleeding, and all Robert wanted to do was to fall asleep and never wake up. Suddenly he felt warmth encircle his shoulders, and looked behind him to find that Lord Davos was holding the blanket around his shoulders. Robert was so shocked he could only blink. He felt Davos' sad eyes glance at his own. "Yes," the older man whispered. "You either live or you die." The lord stood across from Robert as he spoke. "In the Battle of Blackwater I lost four of my sons. I lived, even though I wanted to die. I didn't understand why my young sons died while I, an older man, lived. My king had forsaken me for dead and didn't shed a tear when he heard that my head was on a spike. Everything I had sacrificed for him meant nothing. I was…only a tool to him. No more and no less. And now he's marching to his death." Davos breathed softly into the wind and he looked at Robert. The boy was mesmerized by his story. "Lady Sansa Clegane died from her grief, Lord Arryn, not from childbed. She died. _You _don't have to. You _must_ live. You must learn how to ride Stranger, who is waiting for you to ride him." Robert felt Davos' hands on his own. "The war is not yet over yet, my lord, and we need you. We need your strength. What are your words?"

"As high as honor," Robert hoarsely whispered. Davos nodded.

"It would be honorable to die from the greater good and not from grief, Lord Arryn. Winter is here, and the Commander on the Wall will need all the men he can get to fight the Others. I will fight as well, even as my lovely wife and three young sons wait for me. The world needs us now. Will you follow me?" Robert could tell that Davos was waiting for his response.

"Yes," he whispered. "Yes," he stated stronger. "I will follow you wherever you go."


	23. Epilogue

_Epilogue _

Daenerys Targaryen First of Her Name studied the map of Westeros before her. She had finally come home, although not with the Dorthraki warriors that her older brother had envisioned. She had come with her own army, and blood had not been shed as her brother had wanted._ He is dead and I am queen, _she thought to herself. _I have won the war against the Others and the hearts of the commons and the nobles alike. _Somehow, however, the thoughts did not calm her distress. Many men had been lost in the war against the Others. Funerals were still being held a month after the war officially ended. Daenerys winced, remembering of how the Night's Watch had lost staggering numbers of men. Lord Commander Jon Snow had almost lost his life again during that time, and now was being hailed as a hero. Songs were being sung about him and the Night's Watch, and young boys were eager to protect and serve the realm. The Others had been distinguished, and the Seven Kingdoms were now at peace.

Stannis Baratheon had tried to claim the Iron Throne as his own, but had been refused and his body had been reduced to dust when Drogon had breathed fire on him and his men. Daenerys had been the person to release him from his home in the Red Keep, and still remembered some of the faces. The Kingslayer. The Imp. The brothers had been burned, and the false king's crown had melted gold on the dust particles that had been his body. Daenerys had been told by the Night's Watch that his lady wife had ended her life when her husband's ashes had been brought to her. Their child was currently being fostered in King's Landing, where she would stay until she was old enough to rule Storm's End and Dragonstone. _She is but a child, _Daenerys thought sadly as Shireen Baratheon walked the halls of the castle. _She had no love from her father, or her mother. I will have to heal her broken and empty heart. _She had pardoned Davos Seaworth for his loyalty to Stannis, and had since disappeared with his wife and three young sons beyond Westeros. House Bolton had been destroyed, and House Lannister was almost extinct. Only a male youth of age fourteen survived. The child Tommen had remained emotionally detached when he was taken away to the Citadel. He had a making of a measter, and the only sliver of emotion he had displayed was requesting a new name for himself. _The boy is known as Aemon now._

The queen remembered her sadness upon her about Lord Sandor Clegane's and Lady Sansa Clegane's deaths. The sole survivor of trio was Robert Arryn, who had fought in the war and was now being fostered in King's Landing with Shireen until he came of age. Daenerys remembered how she told the Lannister youth that it was his responsibility to keep Clegane's Keep habitable and clean. _"There is no heir, Your Grace. House Clegane is extinct!" There is an heir, a babe, but will rise and claim his birthright when he is of age. His name is Anlaun Clegane._

* * *

_The wind was blowing softly in Sansa's hair. She felt the field of golden grass ring in her ears. The sun was in her eyes, and she squinted as she saw a tall lemon tree. The leaves and branches were blowing in the sweet wind, and Sansa saw the glint of the lemons from the sun. She walked forward and saw a person standing by the tree. She was certain it was an older her as she came closer. The same blue eyes and similar auburn hair that curled. The same smile. "Hello, sister." The woman held her close, and nuzzled her cheek. "You made my brother very happy." Sansa knew who she was then. Her eyes filled with tears as Anor Clegane continued to hold her. Anor calmly released Sansa then and whispered. "Look who's here." Like a child, Sansa turned around with curiosity. Her husband was standing before her. "My love…" she whispered. The tears that had frozen inside her from the moment of Sandor's death flowed free. Sandor held her close to his chest, soothing her by stroking her hair. Sansa put her head closer to his chest, feeling his calm heartbeat. It always calmed her when they were alive, even when she screamed from her sorrowful nightmares. Sansa kissed her husband on his cheek. She felt Anor's smile as they embraced, and smiled despite her sorrow from leaving their infant son Anlaun behind. _

"_Even in death I love you," Sansa whispered. She saw Sandor nod in agreement and they entwined their hands. And so their spirits remained by the lemon tree, for that night, and for all nights to come._

* * *

There were two lone figures who approached the rejuvenated castle of Winterfell. One was a small and skinny human; her long dark hair was obscured by her cowl. Her companion was an animal. A female direwolf with silver, grey, and white fur to be exact. The direwolf was at least twice the human's size, and growled at the Northerners who came to close to her for her liking. "Hush now," her companion said. The direwolf complied, following her companion at her heels. A thin sword was covered by the robe, and the human nervously fingered it. The weapon had been her companion more than her own trusted direwolf had been. It had been her best friend at times. After Daenerys Targaryen had been crowned queen, the human had thoughts of returning home. But would her family except her for who she was now? Her direwolf had made the decision easier, and at the dead of night she and her reunited companion were stowaways in a ship headed to Westeros. When she had left her home, she had been a child of nine years, the outcast of her family. Jon Snow had not been her bastard half brother at all. Now she had returned, twelve years old now, smelling of blood and an outcast still. She stood outside her home – the only home she had – and removed her cowl. Arya Stark's face broke into a smile. She hadn't smiled in a long time. "I'm home," she whispered.


End file.
